


Remains

by iwritesinsnotnovels



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon but like in the future, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gay Panic, HIV/AIDS, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 02:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12266853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwritesinsnotnovels/pseuds/iwritesinsnotnovels
Summary: "It was a different time, now, but some things would always remain."ORThe year is 2011; gay marriage is legalized in New York, but things aren't as simple as they seem. Featuring break downs, drama queens and the extended cast of Falsettos, thirty years on.





	1. Skype

**Author's Note:**

> So this started off as a guilty pleasure oneshot, but then angst™ happened, so it became a guilty pleasure ficlet. It'll probably be around 30-50,000 words, so keep an eye out for updates.
> 
> Basically what it says on the tin: the cast of Falsettos, thirty years on, just with less death. Also, I gave Jason children!
> 
> Kudos and comments fuel me, but please be nice. I am in no way trying to undermine or offend our lord and saviour Bill Finn, the original characters or sufferers of HIV/AIDS.

On June 24th, 2011 Jason got a call from Whizzer Brown.

"You'll never guess what Danny O'Donnell has done now," he said before Jason even had a chance to say hello.

Jason had received a lot of these calls over the years. Marvin wasn't interested in politics; Jason wasn't either, really, but when he left for New Jersey he'd wanted any excuse to talk to his dads, and over the years Whizzer had taken that wish and twisted it in his head to equate to genuine enthusiasm. Whizzer, on the other hand,  _was_  genuinely enthusiastic. He followed every political decision, especially the ones concerning 'his people,' as he put it, avidly, at first through newspapers and now through the various news apps he had on his brand new iPhone 4. And sure, his views on politicians mostly seemed to mirror whatever article he had read most recently, but since he'd never been academic and all forms of sport were now firmly out of the question, Jason was just glad he had something to do in his free time besides volunteering at every AIDS charity in the city and scouring the internet for increasingly obscure lgbt+ films.

So because he was pretty sure Daniel O'Donnell was a politician and not a character in Glee, Jason put down his fork and stood up from the table, motioning for his family to keep eating as he went through to the living room.

"Hey, Whizzer, how are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm in the pink," said Whizzer brightly, momentarily distracted from his latest bit of news, "Your father took me out for dinner last night, can you believe it?"

Since it had been happening every Friday since the 1990s Jason really could, but he laughed anyway, still a little amazed, because he had never known two people in their sixties ("I'm actually fifty nine, Jason") who were still so in love. Besides Trina and Mendel and Charlotte and Cordeila, of course.

"How's everyone else?" said Jason, sitting down on the sofa and putting his feet up on the coffee table.

"Off!" came a voice from the kitchen even though he was out of sight; Jason grinned and moved his feet to the floor.

"They're great," said Whizzer, "Missing you, of course. How are the kids?"

"Perfect. How's Dad?"

Jason could almost see his fond smile over the phone. "Oh, missing you the most."

"His cough...?"

"Fine," Whizzer said lightly, "You don't need to worry about every little thing, Jason. He's an old man now."

That wasn't true, but sometimes, when they visited and both Whizzer and Marvin had to stop halfway up the stairs, lungs crackling in that way Jason knew so well, it was easy to forget. In those moments, it was also easy to forget that Jason was a middle aged man now, forty two years old, and not the terrified little boy who had watched his father's boyfriend be dragged out of his Bar Mitzvah and not know if he'd ever see him again.

That had been the first time. The first illness. 

It hadn't been the last.

So even though Marvin and Whizzer and all of Jason's parents weren't old, sometimes Jason's life seemed to have been so long, so full of change and fear and heartbreak, that he felt as though  _he_  was.

"And you're really okay?" Jason checked.

" _Yes_ ," said Whizzer, and he sounded so impatient Jason laughed.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. So what did this O'Donnell guy do?"

Whizzer was quiet for a moment. Jason could almost hear him fizzing with excitement. Eventually, he just said, in a voice that seemed to tremble, almost as though it could break apart completely, "Check the news."

Jason pulled it up on his phone. His heart flipped. He turned on the TV to check. Then he let out a yell. Heather ran in, saw the headline, and let out a shriek. On the phone, Jason could hear Whizzer laughing, and perhaps crying a little.

Later, they'd talk properly. Jason could call his mom and Mendel, call the lesbians, and hear them cry down the phone with him.

For on June 24th 2011, New York, the largest constituency to do so since California and lifelong home of Whizzer and Marvin, legalised same-sex marriage.

 

"I'm so happy," Heather said that evening to the blurry Skype figures of Marvin and Whizzer, tears in her eyes, and it was a good job Jason had stopped counting the times he marvelled at his wife a long time ago because otherwise he would've had to then.

Jason and Heather had become friends at the end of high school, and started dating when he dropped out of college and moved back to NYC when Marvin got ill in 1989. She had been there for him then, when they had gone together to visit Whizzer and Marvin in the beds Trina had bribed the nurses to be next to each other, when Jason had looked down at the figures of his dads, thin, full of tubes and as motionless as broken rag dolls. She'd never complained about the daily hospital visits, at Jason's angry outbursts that dissolved into helpless tears, or, later, at the Pride events Whizzer dragged them to every year, just squeezed his hand and smiled her soft, perfect smile, that made Jason think, just for a moment, and whether he was facing his fathers' death or that handsie drag queen at the New York Pride in 1994, that everything would be okay.

Later, he'd been able to return the favour, when Heather's mom died in 1994 and her father followed in 96, and then, in 1997, when she gritted her teeth and gave birth to their daughter. Who was, in that moment, leaning against her mom, identical with her long blonde hair and smile glinting with tears. She was fourteen years old, and to Jason, as kind as Heather, as outspoken as the lesbians, and, above all, as strong as Trina.

Matt had followed in 1999; Marvin said he was just like Jason had been when he was twelve, quieter than Lily, sharper, but in Jason's not-at-all biased opinion, just as perfect. He was sitting on Heather's other side where the four of them were squeezed onto their old two seater couch, Jason's work laptop open on her lap with Marvin and Whizzer beaming from it.

"Hello!" they said, waving jerkily, "How are you?"

"Happy!" Heather said again.

"We're so happy!" said Whizzer.

Jason huffed a laugh. Heather elbowed him.

"Go check the WiFi."

"Yeah, I don't know how to do that."

"I'll do it," said Matt in a long-suffering sort of way, peeling himself off the sofa and trudging into the hall.

In his absence, Lily leaned forward, her yellow hair swinging.

"So when's the wedding?"

Marvin laughed. Whizzer said, "The law doesn't come into play for another month yet."

"It won't be long, though," said Heather, "Not now. And I'm telling you boys, it's 2011, pretty soon it'll be legal worldwide."

"Hopefully," said Whizzer, and even though his face was tiny and pixilated on the screen, Jason could see the shine in his eyes. "Can you imagine that?"

It had seemed so impossible for so many years that Jason almost couldn't.

"I can imagine your  _wedding_ ," said Lily in an excited voice, because she was twelve years old in a different era, and it was easier not to notice the disapproving stares rather than the yelled death threats, "I'm being the bridesmaid."

"What about Matt?" said Whizzer.

"Well, I suppose he can be a bridesmaid too if he  _really_ wants."

Marvin laughed again.  "Sorry to get your hopes up, kiddo, but just because it's finally legal doesn't mean we're rushing off to the church."

"Doesn't it?" said Whizzer, the light abruptly vanishing from his eyes and being replaced by a frown as he turned to face Marvin.

Jason and Heather exchanged a glance.

"Well," said Marvin, in the tone of explaining one plus one to a kindergarten, "My last marriage didn't exactly go great, did it?"

Whizzer scoffed. "Slight difference,  _darling,_ I'm a  _man_."

"Doesn't mean we have to get married, does it?"

"Good Lord, are you getting commitment issues  _no_ w?"

"Guys," said Jason, "Don't argue. This is a happy time."

Marvin turned to face Whizzer too, folding his arms. "Not for a lot of people. You can still be killed for being queer in some countries, you know."

"Eleven," said Whizzer, in contrast waving his hands with each syllable, "But that's not the point."

"Isn't it? Seems kinda selfish to get married when this is happening, doesn't it? Queers can't even get married in New Jersey."

"Well, that's New Jersey, isn't it?"

"Hey, we live in New Jersey," said Jason indignantly as Heather, running a hand over her face, said, "Boys, please, it doesn't even-"

"And how is it selfish to get married?" Whizzer pressed on, his hand gestures growing more flamboyant as he ignored them entirely, "If anything I think it's empowering."

"Me too," said Lily, who was watching the screen with very wide eyes.

Whizzer gestured wildly at the camera and almost hit Marvin in the face. "See? The kid agrees."

"She's not queer though, is she?" Marvin pointed out a little sourly.

"She could be," said Jason.

"I'm not gay," said Lily, very quickly.

"Well, you might not know yet," said Heather, looking to Marvin in an attempt to get the conversation back on track, "Marv, you didn't know you were gay until you met Whizzer, didn't you?"

Jason and Whizzer both snorted.

"Of course he knew," said Whizzer, then, to Lily, "Honey, it's called repression."

"And cheating on your wife," added Jason.

Marvin frowned at him, momentarily distracted. "What do you mean?"

Jason rolled his eyes. "Dad, you don't need to pretend Whizzer was the first guy."

"I- I don't- what are you talking about?"

"Mom told me."

"Trina  _kne_ -"

"Ooh, yes, let's talk about marriage again," said Whizzer, turning back to Marvin so quickly his hair flew up, "Or more specifically why you're so against it now."

"Well, me and Trina weren't exactly poster children for the thing, were we?"

"I'll say," Jason muttered.

Whizzer scoffed. "The reason your marriage was a sham," he began, however they never found out this reason as the figures on the screen froze, replaced by a buffering icon; a message flashed up saying 'Network failed,' and Skype shut down.

"I turned off the WiFi," said Matt, unnecessarily, appearing in the doorway to the living room, "I heard shouting."

"We'll call them back in a few minutes," said Jason, watching the black screen with a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He didn't know why he'd automatically expected Marvin and Whizzer to get married. It wasn't like it would change anything; they'd been together for years and, despite their constant bickering, Jason knew they were still just as in love. A couple of rings wouldn't change that. It was just the thought of marriage, and the arguments about it, reminded him of his childhood in a way he really didn't want to be.

"Sorry," Lily said into the silence, "I just assumed."

"We all assumed," Heather sighed. She took hold of Jason's hand, and squeezed it.

Matt hovered in the doorway. "Shall I turn the WiFi back on?"

"Leave it," said Jason, "I'll text them, say my laptop crashed or something. They're coming round next week, anyway."

Lily and Matt nodded, and Heather went to tuck them into bed, leaving Jason sitting in the living room, laptop still open next to him. Times were changing. Things had changed a lot over the years, and it was safe to say that when Jason had first met Whizzer, spread over the couch in the den being screwed by his father, he'd never expected one day they could be getting  _married._ It was ludicrous. It was no wonder Marvin hadn't expected it.

But still. Jason put his head in his hands. Still. All he wanted was for his dads to be happy, and marriage was meant to be the very root of it, wasn't it? Of course, Marvin and Trina's marriage hadn't been like that, but Whizzer was right, it  _was_  different. Trina and Mendel were happy. Charlotte and Cordelia, who had travelled to Massachusetts to get married back in 2003, were happy. He and Heather were unbelievably happy. Jason would've thought Marvin would have wanted that, the way he'd waxed on about tight knit families when he was younger, but Jason had no idea what was going on his head. He never had, really. And so he just sat there, listening to Heather wishing their children goodnight, and wondering what Marvin and Whizzer were thinking, what they were doing, right then.

 

"At last, right?" said Whizzer.

After the abrupt end of their Skype call also called an end to their argument, they'd decided to leave it and watch television instead, eyes fixed on the screen to stop them talking about what had just been revealed. They could get away with it, because it was just the two of them, in their flat in New York city, with the dick painting in the hall and the quilt Trina made Whizzer when he was sick one time on the bed and a drawing by Lily on the fridge, a classic 'My Family,' with stick men Heather and Jason and Trina and Mendel and Charlotte and Cordelia and Whizzer and Marvin, and an unidentifiable blob that had to have been baby Matt. Whizzer's hair took up a quarter of the page.

"At last," Marvin agreed, leaning against him where they sat, cuddled together on the sofa, watching their least favourite news presenter shed a single tear as she told the world that in a month, same-sex couples would legally be able to marry in New York.

"How many years now has it been?"

"Thirty two," said Marvin, instantly.

"Thirty two. Jesus."

When Whizzer was younger, he had never thought he would be with someone this long; he'd been young, bored, hungry; he hadn't even known it was possible. Hell, at some points, he wasn't even sure he'd live that long. But he had. And he had now been with Marvin, the stupid, abrasive, wonderful man he'd loathed as much as he'd loved, for thirty two years (well, thirty, technially, but it was tiresome to bother with technicalities from so long ago). At least, he'd known Marvin longer than he hadn't. It had been so many years, so many endless years, that the time before Marvin felt hazy, like a distant dream he didn't particularly want to recall. Those ten years he hadn't known Jason, once inconceivable, now faded into nothingness in a way Whizzer had never thought possible.

None of this had even seemed possible, when Marvin was just one man waiting for him in one of so many cities, when Trina found them and Whizzer had felt smaller and dirtier than he'd ever felt before, when he got sick that first time and he  _saw_ the goddamn light and  _heard_ those goddamn angels, which turned out to be machines bleeping and Marvin crying as he fell back into darkness. But Whizzer Brown had beaten the odds, the statistics, the impossibles. He'd survived. He was a father. He was a fucking grandad. And now, after all these years, he could be a husband. Impossible. Inconceivable. Miraculous.

"She's not actually crying," said Whizzer, "Look, her eyes aren't even red."

"I think she is," said Marvin.

"Prick," said Whizzer, but there was no venom to it, not anymore.

"They're crying, too," said Marvin, as the television cut to a clip of crowds in Central Park, men and men and women and women with their arms wrapped round each other, hands raised to show the bands glinting on their fingers.

"Yes, I know, they've shown this clip at least three times now. Jesus, can they not find anymore gay people? Oh, you know what we should do," said Whizzer, his eyes reflecting the light of the TV as they widened, "We should go down there ourselves. We're old-school queers, they'd love us. I could do my party trick."

Whizzer made himself breath quicker and quicker, until his lungs started to crackle and he had to stop, wheezing. Marvin hit his shoulder.

"Jeeze, stop it, how many times do I have to tell you that's not a party trick, it's a suicide attempt?"

Whizzer just laughed, albeit breathlessly. Marvin shook his head.

"Asshole. And no, we're not going down here." He ran his hand down Whizzer's chest, lowered his voice, "Not when there's so much we could do up here."

"Can we watch Rent?"

"Fine," said Marvin, rolling his eyes and throwing his arm around Whizzer's neck instead.

Whizzer leant into him, and Marvin felt the soft brush of his hair against his cheek, heard the scoff he gave when the television returned to the news presenter, a tissue pressed to her cheek but her makeup somehow still perfect.

"What a faker," Whizzer said in disgust, reaching for the remote to find Rent in their recordings.

And as Marvin listened to the opening chords of 'Seasons of Love' for what felt like the hundredth time, and felt Whizzer shift in anticipation under his arm, and he wondered idly if he'd mind if they paused it so Marvin could make popcorn even though " _You can't hear the beautiful gay heart-wrenching music over your freaking crunching, Marv_ ," he thought whether marriage would feel any different to this,  _this,_ perfection and comfort in their simplicit knowing.

And then, he wondered why the very thought of it terrified him regardless.


	2. A Tight Knit Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is like double the length of the first one whoops inconsistency. Thank you everyone who commented, they actually mean so so much to me so please keep them coming!

All next week, Lily tried hard to put the Skype call from her mind. She could tell her family were too; her dad never called them back, and no comments were made about their impending visit the following Sunday, even from Matt, who hadn't been there during the call and was also probably the least tactful person Lily had ever met. It wasn't that she was upset about the argument, exactly (" _It's how they show love_ ," her father had said once, and his tone had been so dry Lily actually hadn't been sure whether he was joking or not). If she was being completely, utterly honest, she was upset that they weren't going to get married. They'd been together for so long, and were so in love, and it was such a big step for equality, and Lily had been six when Charlotte and Cordelia got married and not even in existence when Trina and Mendel did and they had no extended family and god _dammit_ she wanted to be a bridesmaid.

But Lily was trying to put the Skype call from her mind. Successfully, she might add. It was not at all helpful, therefore, when she walked into her biology class last period the following Wednesday and saw the very disease her grandads suffered from up on the board, and her biology teacher standing in front of it with his favourite board pen, that he sometimes gesticulated with so wildly it flew through the air and hit people in the face, uncapped, his arms folded, and his "I am in teacher mode so that means no chatting while I sleep off my headache that is probably actually a hangover today, nope, we are doing actual work" face on. Lily didn't have any friends in that class (if she was being completely honest she didn't have a great deal of friends full stop, but that was okay, she was fine with spending her lunchtimes drawing or studying or playing the chess app on her phone which her dad always said was blasphemy, although against what she wasn't sure), so those lessons were pretty boring, but for once she wished she could just read the textbook with everyone busy talking, agonise over the statistics without the feeling of thirty silent eyes on her.

Lily knew the statistics.

Thirty years was a long time to live with the disease.

"So," said Mr Brailey, tapping on the board to get the class' attention, and everyone winced at the loud crack, like they always did. "So. We have spent the last few lessons looking at communicable diseases. Derek! What's a communicable disease?"

Mr Brailey pointed a pen at a boy in the front row, who jumped. "Uh, a disease that can be spread?"

"Correct," said Mr Brailey. He hit the board, and everyone winced again. "We've looked at more minor diseases such as flu, but now it's time for the big boys. Next week you get TB. This lesson, we're looking at," board tap, resounding wince, "HIV and AIDS. I thought this lesson would be appropriate, given the recent news up in New York."

Mr Brailey paused, as though expecting applause. When none came, he said, "Y'all did hear about it, didn't you?"

"Sir," said one of the boys on the back row, sticking his hand in the air, "Why are you teaching us about AIDS?"

Mr Brailey frowned. He frowned a lot; his face looked like a crumpled piece of paper, with a line right between his eyebrows. "Well, it's on the syllabus. And, of course, it's an important part of our history."

"Yeah, but it's a  _gay_ disease."

The way he said it, like it was a dirty word, a swear word, even, as well as the giggles it created, made Lily feel sick. No, not sick - angry. Sick with anger.

"It was not just a gay disease," said Lily. She couldn't remember ever speaking in this lesson before, and heard a few people start to mutter, but couldn't find it in herself to care. "Loads of people had it, and still do have it, all around the world, but why shouldn't we learn about it just because originally it was mostly gay men that got it?"

"Because they deserved it," one boy said, and everyone on his row sniggered.

And Lily couldn't help herself. "That- that is such bullshit! Did the people who got raped deserve it? Did children who inherited it deserve it? Did haemophiliacs who got it from transfusion deserve it?"

"Excuse me," said Mr Brailey, with warning but mostly complete confusion in his voice.

"Did nice men who just happened to sleep with men deserve it? Did-"

"I think that's enough," said Mr Brailey, more firmly, but still he didn't sound angry, exactly. More... curious. "Sit down, Lily."

Lily hadn't even realised she had stood up, but sat down quickly. She also just then realised that her cheeks were wet, and scrubbed at them with the sleave of her jacket. Whispers crackled in her ears.

Mr Brailey pointed his pen at her. "How do you know so much about AIDS?"

Lily forced herself to look him in the eye. Whizzer always said that in these moments, when you had to talk but didn't want to, you should pretend to be confident, and pretend so well that eventually it happened. He also said that you should imagine your worst moments as amazing future anecdotes. He said you could get through any awful experience if you pictured telling it to your friends in the future, with them screaming "NO! NO! NO!" in increasing disbelief (" _Take Jesus, honey,_ " he had said, " _I bet that when He was on that cross all He could think of was telling the disciples_   _you'll never guess where they stuck these nails_ ," and Marvin had said, " _Baby, we're Jewish_ ," and Whizzer had said, " _It's a metaphor!_ " and Jason had said, " _What do you mean where they stuck these nails?_ " and Whizzer had said, " _What did_ you _think thorn crown meant?_ ")

"Hello?"

Lily swallowed. "Um, my grandad. Grandads."

"What, are her grandads fags?" someone muttered from the back of the classroom, causing another ripple of laughter.

She twisted her head round. The boys on the back row all looked the same; identical hair gelled into spikes, identical black tshirts, identical smirks, vacant in their mocking. Bad as Matt could be, smug and precocious and downright annoying, in that moment, Lily was glad he wasn't one of them.

"Yes, they are. Got a problem with that?"

The boys just laughed, gleeful to get a reaction. Lily felt the whispers crescendo around her. But then Mr Brailey tapped his pen again, and they fell silent.

"Have they told you anything about their experience with the disease?" he said.

Lily turned around slowly, but Mr Brailey didn't look as though he was just asking to stop her from shouting again; rather, he looked genuinely interested. Despite teaching her all year, Lily wasn't sure he'd ever directly spoken to her, aside from an apology when he accidentally threw a pen at her one time.

"A bit," she said, trying her hardest to ignore the feeling of eyes staring her down, like lions, like  _vultures_. "They complain about it sometimes. But my dad says not to ask them about it. Apparently my grandad, like, my blood grandad, doesn't like talking about what happened."

"Does your dad remember anything?" asked a boy called James, who Lily had known since kindergarten. They hadn't spoken in years, but she still remembered his family, his smiling mom and older sister and Schnauzer puppy called Buster who had to be fully grown by now, so she supposed he must too.

"Um, he was twelve when Whizzer, my grandad's partner, I mean, first got ill, so yeah, I guess. He doesn't talk about it either, really."

"What year was that?" said Mr Brailey, "That your grandad's partner first got ill?"

Lily suddenly realised the class had gone quiet. She sincerely hoped it was in interest rather than shock and horror. Lily straightened her back, remembered what Whizzer had told her. Never be ashamed.

"81, I think?"

"So pretty early on in the epidemic?"

"Yeah. I think Whizzer was one of the first people diagnosed, actually. I don't know. I'm seeing him soon so I'll ask him."

"Well, Lily, you'll have to report back what he tells you," said Mr Brailey. He paused for a moment, eyebrows drawing together. He looked at though he had just been told he'd been seeing it wrong, the sky was actually green. He looked at Lily like she was an sum he'd thought up until that point he'd figured out. "It is Lily, right?"

"Yes."

Mr Brailey nodded, slowly. "Your grandads must have lead very interesting lives."

That's what Lily always said. Whenever she mentioned it to her dad, though, Jason just said it was different when you actually had to live them.

"I guess."

Mr Brailey nodded again. His eyes were thoughtful beneath his knitted brows, and Lily recognised the curiosity there. It was the same one she felt every time her family mentioned a hospital visit, an event, an era, just a throwaway comment that Lily was never allowed to question.

"Very interesting," he said, "Lily, do you think you could stay behind after class? I have something I'd like to ask you."

 

"You're going to do  _what_?"

"Get grandad Marvin and Whizzer to talk to my bio class," Lily said happily, "Isn't that a great idea?"

"Whizzer'll love that," Jason, who was serving dinner, said fondly, "Not sure dad would. Maybe just Whizzer could do it."

"It's really not a good idea," said Matt.

Lily frowned at him. "Why not? Educate the bigots in my class  _while_ learning the course."

The "and getting herself some answers at the same time" went unsaid.

"Well, I think it's a great idea," said Jason, setting down his lasagna with an airy flourish that didn't match his flushed face and frizzing hair. Heather was a doctor at the local hospital, and often got called away outside work hours to cut a bullet out of someone or something. Leaving Jason to make dinner. Lily loved her father, she really did; he was clever, funny, mostly nice, like Marvin in a good mood or Trina in a particularly stressed one, but god, was he a bad cook. She eyed the gloopy mess he was now dividing between their plates.

"When are we seeing the lesbians again?"

Jason, taking the hint, glared at her. "Thanksgiving, I think. Cordelia wants to try a turkey after the Thanksgiving of 1997."

"What happened Thanksgiving of 1997?"

He shook his head. "Trust me, you don't want to know. Also," he added as Lily opened her mouth, "We are not asking Charlotte to talk at your school. She moved to get away from all she saw, I am not making her relive it in front of a load of middle schoolers."

"Fine," said Lily, picking up her fork and digging it into her portion of lasagne with some trepidation, "I'm sure Whizzer will be able to talk enough, anyway."

"Whatever you do don't mention the Reagans."

"Why not?"

"Hanukkah 1988. Trust me."

"Guys," said Matt, who hadn't even touched his food, "You're making this into a joke."

Jason frowned across at him. "What are you talking about?"

Matt hunched his shoulders. Lily loved her brother too... Mostly. It was just that he was at that sulky stage of childhood, when he felt quietly superior to everyone else, although then again he'd always been like that so maybe that was just Matt. Regardless, living with Matt was exactly like living with a bratty twelve year old boy. The two years between them felt like an inconceivable amount. But, yes, she did love him. She also knew him. And Lily had never seen that exact uncomfortable expression on his face before.

"Getting Whizzer to talk at a school," said Matt, his voice not petulant, exactly. Rather, he sounded like Jason did whenever he tried to help them with homework; like an adult explaining something they found very simple to a frustrated child. "That's not... You can't do that."

"Why not?" said Lily.

"They'll laugh at him!"

"Why would they do that?"

"You said there were mean people in your class," Matt said accusingly, "Do you want them to laugh at him? Do you?"

The thought made Lily feel a little sick. But surely that wouldn't happen. They'd laughed at her, but Whizzer was bigger and braver and stronger; surely they  _couldn't_ laugh at him.

"I want them to be educated," said Lily.

"Well, yeah, I do too, but-"

"Are you ashamed?" said Jason.

Matt went bright red. "Of course, of  _course_ not, they're my grandads."

"So what's the problem?" said Lily.

She watched as her little brother squirmed, but rather than feeling her usual satisfaction, she still felt queasy. She wondered whether it was the lasagna.

"Well, they'll- they'll be horrible to him, won't they?" said Matt eventually.

"No they won't," said Lily, " And even if they are, just at first, they won't be by the end, will they? That's the whole point."

"What if- what if he starts coughing?" said Matt, "He does that sometimes, it's really scary. No one wants to see that, do they?"

His tone was one of a man buried underground saying " _Well, at least I don't have to worry about sunscreen down here_." Jason seemed to pick up on it, as he frowned.

"What's this really about, hm?" he said.

Matt swallowed. "I'm just worried about him. That they might be horrible to him. And then... And then they might be horrible to me," he finished in a quiet voice.

"I don't care about that," said Lily quickly.

"Well I do, okay?"

"That's selfish," Lily said in disdain, and disappointment, but also fear. She'd hoped her brother was better than that... but was she, really? She didn't want Whizzer to be taunted; she really didn't want herself to be either.

"You don't need to worry about that," said their father, his voice sounding tired, suddenly, "Times have changed. These kids aren't actually homophobic, you know, they just think they're being funny."

Lily nodded. Jason did too, spearing a lump of lasagna and wincing a little as an unidentified juice oozed out.

"And anyway," he continued, "you might not have to worry about it. Whizzer might not what to talk to them at all."

 

"Are you kidding?" said Whizzer, "Of course I want to talk to them!"

It was Saturday. Marvin and Whizzer had arrived earlier that day, the former complaining about the traffic on the interstate, the latter as laden down with presents as ever (Matt and Lily now each had new phones, Heather a beautiful sapphire necklace that had made her eyes grow wide and a little watery, and Jason basically an entire new wardrobe (" _He got his fashion sense from his father, unfortunately_ "), which he supposed he was grateful for). They had eaten dinner, something delicious by Heather which Jason knew for a fact came pre-wrapped, they had decidedly not mentioned the Skype call, its contents or its abrupt end, and were now at the watching-Marvin-and-Whizzer-drink-inconceivable-amounts-of-wine stage, which Jason and Heather were used to but the kids were watching with slightly horrified expressions. It didn't help that as their best and only wine vanished they got increasingly more handsie, until the two men's chairs were practically touching and Whizzer was lying half in Marvin's lap. Jason's eyes hurt from being rolled.

"It's a load of high schoolers," said Jason, "We get it if you don't want to talk to them."

"I don't," said Marvin, "I hate kids."

"Thanks," Jason, Lily and Matt said as one.

Marvin shook his head, waved a hand. "I don't mean  _you_ , obviously."

"Just most kids," Jason said dryly, "Thanks, dad."

"Well, I like kids," said Whizzer.

"No you don't!" Marvin scoffed.

"Of course I do!"

"That's not what you said about Jason when you first met him."

"Yeah, well, you were in my ass and I didn't know you had a kid, what the hell did you expect?"

Whizzer turned his attention to Lily, whose eyes were a little wide. At first, Jason had scolded Marvin's arguing and Whizzer's wholly inappropriate comments in front of the kids, but if anything they'd gotten worse, so now he just left them to it. It had never done him any harm, anyway.

"What will I be talking about?" said Whizzer brightly.

Lily and Matt looked at each other, then at Jason. Who cleared his throat.

"Um, she wants you to talk about the AIDS epidemic."

Whizzer's hand, which was reaching for the wine glass Heather had just refilled, went still. Marvin choked on his third helping of chocolate cake.

"It's fine if you don't want to," Jason said carefully, "Lil's teacher just thought it would be nice."

Whizzer had aged well. His hair was just as thick and brown and artfully tousled as it had been when Jason first saw him, all those many, many years ago, and his face, although a little thin, a little lined, was bright with an almost childish youth. Really, it was just his body that was letting him down; before he got ill, Whizzer was lithe but strong, whereas now his body was frail, his limbs bony, his lungs broken. Still, unless you saw him walking upstairs, heard the crackle in his chest when he laughed too hard or talked too much, Whizzer appeared healthy, almost young. But in that moment, he looked as though he had aged about ten years.

"You don't have to," said Heather, "You really don't."

Whizzer finally picked up his wine glass, took a long slurp, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "No, I wanna do it."

Jason looked at Heather, who raised her eyebrows.

"Are you sure?" she said.

"Sure. I mean, it's no different to those charity fundraisers, is it?"

That was a lie. Jason knew there was a world away from a crowd of people who had emptied their purses for an organisation, were full of handmade cakes and cheap wine, and knew exactly when to cheer and when to wipe away tears during Whizzer's tumultuous tale of his disease, and a room of bored, hormonal, borderline homophobic sixth graders. They were arguably the very definition of a tough crowd.

Marvin was still choking.

"Shall I get you some water?" Heather asked him.

"Have some wine, darling," said Whizzer impatiently.

Marvin waved his hand. He'd aged less gracefully than Whizzer, his hair thin on top and grey around the sides, his face bony and lined, but Jason still sometimes forgot how ill he'd been, how ill he still  _was._ Sometimes it felt intoxicatingly easy to forget.

"I'm fine," he said gruffly, reaching for Whizzer's wine and downing it in one.

"I said some, not all," said Whizzer in a voice that was far too affectionate to be irritated, then, "You have your own wine!"

"We have plenty of wine, don't worry," said Heather, still regarding Marvin with concern clearly written in her face.

"Well, I need some more now," said Whizzer. He was pouting, but then he grinned, leaning over to kiss Marvin on the cheek. Jason glanced over at Matt, frowned as his son winced a little. He put that expression firmly in his memory to talk to him about at some point.

"So you'll do it?" said Lily.

Whizzer smiled at her, that special smile that crinkled his eyes, reserved for when he was completely in love. Jason had seen that smile several times over the years, at first directed at Marvin, then at Jason, then the lesbians, then Heather, then, finally, Jason's own children. When Lily was born, and Whizzer and Marvin came to see her, Jason would never forget the way Whizzer had broken down and cried as he held her.

 _"I'm a grandad,"_  he had said through his tears,  _"Little Jason has a baby girl, and I'm a fucking grandad."_

And Marvin had handed him a tissue and said,  _"This is what old age feels like, baby."_

And Whizzer had said, _"Heather, did you know Whizzer's actually a unisex name?"_

In the end, their baby was called Lily Whizzer Trina, and two years later Matthew Marvin Mendel, after both Heather and Jason's parents. Matt always complained that they had the dumbest names, but Jason didn't care, because his family was growing yet somehow felt closer than ever. 

"Of course," said Whizzer, "How could I say no to Lily Whizzer?"

Lily beamed at him. She loved her name; she idolised Whizzer. Matt and Marvin looked nervous.

"Baby," Marvin said cautiously, "Are you sure that you want to talk to a load of middle schoolers? I mean, I don't know how you got on with your school pals-"

"I was very popular, actually," said Whizzer.

"Really?" Matt said doubtfully.

"Of course," said Whizzer, "I was blowing the football captain."

There was a pause as everyone dissected that particular piece of information. Heather reached for her own glass of wine and downed it.

"Of course you were," said Marvin, rolling his eyes.

"Surefire way to popularity," Whizzer whispered to Matt, who flushed beet red.

"Please don't turn my grandson into a queer slut," said Marvin.

"What, like me?" Whizzer retorted.

"You're not a slut," said Jason.

"I used to be!"

"You're sixty. You've literally been in a relationship for thirty years."

"I'm fifty nine!"

"I'm going to get some more wine," said Heather, standing up.

"I used to be  _such_ a slut," Whizzer said to Lily and Matt.

"That's how you got to be talking to Lil's class in the first place," said Marvin.

Whizzer scoffed. "Oh, you're one to talk, you've got AIDS too."

"I got it from you!"

Both men folded their arms and glared forwards. Lily and Matt looked uncomfortable.

"Don't worry," Jason assured them, "They've been arguing about this since the 1980s."

"They'd forgiven each other by the nineties," Heather added, returning with the wine and filling everyone's glasses.

Whizzer grinned at her, throwing an arm around Marvin's shoulders and kissing his temple.

"To answer your question, Lily Whizzer," he said, "Of  _course_  I'll come to your class. I'd be honoured."

"Just don't let him talk about the Reagans," Marvin muttered, leaning his head against Whizzer's.

"Oh my God, the  _Reagans_!"

"It's like Hanukkah 1988 all over again," said Jason.

Heather laughed. "Gosh, how old were we then? Twenty something?"

"Twenty," Jason confirmed. He smiled at the memory. "It was the first holiday you spent with us."

"Trina and Mendel and the lesbians," said Whizzer, sighing nostalgically, "How are they all? It feels like it's been years."

"We saw them last month, baby," said Marvin.

"Well, it feels like years."

"Getting old," Lily commented.

Whizzer scowled and flicked her nose; Marvin laughed.

"Hear that, Whizz? You're an old man."

"I'm  _fifty nine._ You know who's fifty nine? Liam Neeson." He let out a dramatic sigh. "You know who  _would_  be fifty nine?"

"Patrick Swayze," Marvin answered in a tired voice.

"Ooh, I love dirty dancing," said Heather.

"Me too!"

"Get me drunk enough and we can recreate the lift," Marvin deadpanned.

Whizzer laughed, picking up his own wine glass and tipping its contents into Marvin's mouth. "Drink up then, darling."

Jason laughed; his hand found Heather's under the table, and squeezed it. She knew what a big deal it was to him to have his dads here, alive and together and  _happy_. He'd never expected them to be sitting here like this together. Hell, when he was younger, his father had been reluctant to even touch Whizzer in front of him, and Jason had certainly been reluctant to watch them. Now... Jason's eyes found his children. Lily looked a little bored, a little tired, but happy. Abrasive and inappropriate though they were, she loved her grandparents, loved to watch their endless banter and stories and kisses on cheeks. Matt, on the other hand... The only word Jason could use to describe him was uncomfortable. Sitting beside Marvin and Whizzer, stiff and quiet and red, Matt looked just plain uncomfortable. Jason watched him for a moment, a frown tugging at his brows. Yes. This was definitely something they needed to talk about.


	3. Sweep Him Off His Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the support, it means so much to me that people, inexplicably, seem to like this!

That Sunday was the first that year that truly felt like summer; after months of clouds and clamminess the sun had somehow broken through, bathing the streets of their little New Jersey town in yellow sunshine and turning the skies bright blue.

They'd gone to the park. Heather was lying on the rug where they'd eaten their picnic an unknown time ago, blonde hair glinting like spun gold against the grass. Every now and again she'd give a little grunting snore, which although slightly ruined the sleeping beauty effect, to Jason, made her somehow seem even more beautiful.

Whizzer and the kids were playing baseball at the other end of the field. Well, Whizzer was throwing the ball while Lily and Matt took it in turns to hit and run after it. Jason had no idea what the scoring system was, but when he'd asked Heather about it she'd hit his arm and said it didn't matter, they were just having fun. Which was true; even Whizzer was laughing, despite the fact that Jason knew he wished he could run around like his grandchildren, full of energy and with lungs that weren't broken from years of illness. He was also wearing a pair of shorts that were definitely too short and tight for a fifty nine year old, and which Jason noticed Marvin, who was sitting beside him on a bench next to the sleeping Heather, glancing at appreciatively from time to time.

The tenth time this happened, Jason hit him on the arm. Marvin tore his eyes away and gave him a little smirk which made Jason feel rather like his mind had been probed with a large and phallic object.

"What? I'm enjoying the view."

"Well, don't. You're making me feel uncomfortable."

Once upon a time, Marvin's face would have gone all scared and closed-off. He would've asked Jason, later, after obviously worrying about it for hours or even days, whether it was because Whizzer was a man. Now, he just laughed.

They sat in silence for a moment, but where once it was perpetually uncomfortable, now it was just that, silence. They felt the sun on their face and the breeze in their hair. They both huffed a laugh when Lily hit the ball clear across the field and Matt groaned before trudging after it.

Jason abruptly remembered Matt's uncomfortable expressions last night, the aghast way he'd reacted to the news of Whizzer talking to Lily's class. He looked over at Marvin, who was waving at a triumphant Lily and laughing Whizzer, and considered asking him about it. But no. If Jason was completely honest, he had an inkling as to why Matt was acting like he was, and if that inkling was correct there was no way he was going to share it with his father. Not when he was finally, _finally,_ comfortable with himself, with who he liked and what he was. Jason refused to ruin that.

"Did you go to NYC Pride this year?" he asked instead.

"Of course," said Marvin, like it was nothing, "Whizzer got this guy who looked exactly like Anthony Rapp to take a photo of us."

"Who's Anthony Rapp?"

"He played Mark in- oh, nevermind." Marvin got out his phone, tapped it, frowning, then showed it to Jason. "Here you go."

Jason smiled at the photo on the screen, featuring Marvin with at least twenty rainbow pins, which Jason knew he collected at every Pride event he went to, dotting his red hoodie, and Whizzer in another pair of tiny shorts and a rainbow tank top, arm around Marvin and grinning so broadly into the camera his eyes scrunched up. Around them was an explosion of rainbow flags and grinning faces, of ringed fingers held up to the sky.

"It looks fun," said Jason.

Marvin tucked his phone back in his pocket. "It was. You should've come."

"We couldn't have driven up to New York, the kids had school the next day. And I somehow don't think their teachers would take going to a Pride Parade as a legitimate excuse for skipping class."

"I guess," said Marvin. He looked at Whizzer and the kids, then at Jason, worrying his lip between his teeth. "Is Lily annoyed that I don't want to come talk to her class?"

"Of course not," said Jason, "God, I wouldn't want to."

Marvin nodded slowly. "Do you- you don't think they'll be too mean to him, do you? To Whizzer, I mean."

"No," said Jason, but it was a lie, "Of course not."

"Heather told me they're homophobic."

"Heather's wrong. They're just kids. They're just trying to be funny."

"You were homophobic."

"No I wasn't," said Jason, "It was the fact you were leaving my mom, not the fact that it was for a man. I couldn't have given a shit about that."

That was also a lie. But it was what he had told Marvin for the last thirty years, and since he didn't seem any closer to believing it Jason wasn't about to change his tune. Besides, he _had_ just been a kid. It had been a long time since he'd felt that kind of discomfort.

Marvin gave a short nod. Jason looked at him.

"Why don't you want to marry Whizzer?"

Marvin didn't look back. He stared across the field to where Whizzer and the kids were still playing, but his eyes were glazed over like he wasn't really watching at all.

"It's complicated."

"Is it?"

"Not really."

Jason waited. Marvin took a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh.

"Look. Me and Trina were happy when we first got together. We loved each other. And then we got married, and it all went wrong. It all went sour, and all the love disappeared."

Jason snorted. "Dad, getting married did not turn you gay."

"That's not my point." Marvin took another breath. "Getting married ruined us. Before, I thought I could do it, I thought _we_ could do it. Then we got married, and it was so suffocating we winded up hating each other."

"And you don't want that to happen with Whizzer," Jason said, like he got it, even though he really, really didn't.

"Exactly."

"Dad, it won't. Trust me," he added when Marvin opened his mouth. "It's completely different with Whizzer. I mean, he's a guy, for one thing. And you're actually in love, not just with the idea of it. You're older. You've been together, like, a _really_ long time-"

"Alright," Marvin interrupted, looking a little put out. "We're not _that_ old, you know."

"Well, for a not that old unmarried couple you really do act like an old married one," said Jason, "Actually getting married wouldn't change that. It would just mean he'd get called rather than me all the time whenever you're in hospital."

"If it's just about technicalities like that why even both getting married?" Marvin pointed out. "I mean, if you say we already act like we're married, why should we waste time and money with pointless legalities?"

"That sounds like something Jason would say," came Heather's sleepy voice. She yawned, wide and long and loud, then said, "You're both too logical. You think too much. Marriage isn't about legalities or technicalities. It's about love."

"I have a degree in law," said Jason, "It's actually really quite a lot about legalities."

Heather propped herself up on her elbows in order to allow Marvin and Jason to see the full extent of her eye roll.

"You're ridiculous, is what you are. Marvin, do you love Whizzer?"

Marvin swallowed. "Well, yes. But I loved Trina too, and look what happened."

"That's different," said Jason, "And you know it. Look, legalities aside, marriage won't change anything."

"So why bother?" said Marvin. He was looking over at Whizzer, and Jason saw his eyes soften as Whizzer corrected Matt's grip on the bat.

"Because," said Heather, her voice softening too, "It would make that man you love really happy."

Whizzer stepped back to throw the ball, and let out a cheer when Matt hit it across the field. Jason, Marvin and Heather all clapped too, and Whizzer looked over at them, his grin bright and proud. Jason felt Marvin melt next to him, just a little bit.

"I'll think about it," was all he said.

 

Whizzer and Marvin were originally going to leave Monday morning, but since Lily's biology class wasn't until Tuesday they decided to extend their visit a couple of days. This meant that on Monday, when Jason and Heather were at work and Matt and Lily at school, they had the entire day to themselves. They'd agreed to pick Lily up from school so Whizzer could talk to her biology teacher briefly, but that was hours away.

And Whizzer had a plan.

Marriage had never been something that had particularly crossed his mind. He'd known he was gay since, well, _ever_ , and when he was younger he'd been more concerned about what he was doing being illegal, in the eyes of the world but especially his parents, than getting hung up over his future lack of marriage. Then he'd left home, and the thought of having a second meeting with most of the guys he saw seemed inconceivable, let alone a steady boyfriend, let alone a _husband._ The thought hadn't even crossed his mind until Marvin. Until he got ill.

He remembered: he was in hospital, that first time in 1981 when nobody knew what was going on. A doctor, not Charlotte, this one was was far drier, far meaner, had insisted he write down the phone number of his next of kin on a form that he said wasn't for funeral arrangements but Whizzer knew it was. He wrote down Marvin's number. The doctor said that didn't count. Blood relative or spouse only. He said it spitefully, with a smirk. He said it like he was waiting for Whizzer to say he didn't have any. And so Whizzer wrote down his mother's phone number.

Afterwards, he hobbled out into the corridor where there was a phone, having to hang onto the wall even though he wasn't _that_ sick yet. He didn't think he'd possibly remembered it, but the phone rang one, twice, three times, then there was a beep.

Whizzer's mother said: "Hello, who is this?"

And Whizzer said: "Mom, it's me."

And his mom said: " _Whizzer_?" like it was her dead husband speaking to her instead, because Whizzer had left when he was nineteen and that had been ten years ago.

And Whizzer said: "Yes, it's me, I'm in hospital."

And there had been a pause, then his mom said, "Which hospital?"

"Don't come."

"Ten years, Whizzer. Which hospital? What's wrong?"

"I'm dying."

"No you're not."

"Yes I am."

"Are you by yourself?"

"Right now, yeah."

"No, is anyone with you at the hospital?"

And Whizzer paused, and then said, "Yes. My boyfriend."

And his mother had paused too, paused far too long, and Whizzer had slammed the phone down so hard the bracket shook.

Later, after he got out of hospital, he would try to call his mother again. And a nice lady called Sarah would answer the phone, and say that she was his mother's nurse, that she was in a nursing home, that she was ill too, and that she had died a few weeks ago. She didn't say what of, but she said that she'd never stopped talking about Whizzer after that, that she wanted to know where he was and what he'd done, and whether the boyfriend was a nice Jewish boy, not a good-for-nothing Catholic like his father, and what his name was, and whether they were happy. And Whizzer said they were, because they were, and Sarah the nurse had said she was glad, then they said goodbye and Whizzer never spoke to either her or his mother again.

But that wasn't the point. The point was that when Whizzer had to write down those almost forgotten digits of a woman who'd never known him, all he could think was, _if_ _I_ _was married this wouldn't have to happen._ Then the thought had never quite left. Through all the hospital visits where he had to just say he didn't technically have a next of kin, to when Charlotte and Cordelia got married in 2003, all he could think of was the thought of marrying Marvin, his stupid boyfriend, his life companion, his love.

And now, finally, it could happen. They could have the overly expensive ceremony and the vows that made everyone cry and the proof that Whizzer wasn't a bachelor, wasn't alone, but had a family, a next of kin, a _husband._ People would moon over his ring; he would be contributing to equality. It would be perfect.

If only Marvin would agree.

But Whizzer was determined; he was stubborn and driven and really fucking loved Marvin, and he would get him to marry him if it was the last thing he did. And so he made a plan. Whizzer wasn't a chess player; he preferred to go where the wind took him than plan ahead, perhaps taking a few pieces as he went, maybe losing but having a good time on the way. But this, finally, was his move.

"I was thinking we could go out for lunch somewhere," said Whizzer, "Maybe go for a walk. See where the day takes us."

Whizzer was thinking a grand gesture. Whizzer was thinking sweep him off his feet.

"Sounds good," said Marvin, "Just let me put my coat on."

"It's summer."

"I'm cold."

"Put a jacket on, then," said Whizzer, then scoffed when Marvin reached for his hoodie, thrown over the chair in Jason's guest room. "A _nice_ one, not that ratty old thing."

"It's comfy!" Marvin protested.

"It's hideous! Wear something at least a _bit_ nice."

Marvin paused, one hand still reaching for the hoodie. "We're not going somewhere fancy, are we?"

"No," Whizzer lied.

"You're lying," said Marvin, standing up straighter and folding his arms.

Whizzer folded his arms too. "Am not."

"Baby, I can literally always tell when you're lying."

"Fine." Whizzer gave up and handed him the hoodie. "You know that place in town we went for Jason's birthday one time?"

Marvin's eyes grew wide. "The one you said was prissy and had disgusting food?"

"No, the Mcdonalds we went to when he was fifteen. Yes, that gross place."

"The one with the best linguine I've ever had?"

"According to you, maybe."

"We're going there?"

"Yes," said Whizzer, still holding out his hoodie because Marvin was just standing there, expression dumbfounded and arms hanging at his sides. "And we're going to be late if you don't hurry your ass up."

"You _hate_ it there."

"Well, _you_ loved it, so can we-"

"Will you marry me?" Marvin blurted.

There was no build up. No swell of music. No romance whatsoever, just Marvin gaping at him like a man lobotomised and Whizzer _still_ holding his godforsaken hoodie.

"Will you marry me?" Marvin said again, then, "Oh, shit, should I get down on one knee or someth-"

"What the fuck, Marvin?"

Marvin blinked at him. "Is that a no?"

"It's a how dare you ruin my proposal is what it is," Whizzer said grumpily, "I was going to do it after dinner. After linguine. Somewhere romantic. Not in your son's guest room holding your fucking hoodie!"

Marvin looked as though he was trying very hard to laugh. "Oh, baby, you can still do that."

"Shut up."

"At least you'll know I'll say yes, right?"

"Seriously, Marvin, shut the hell up."

Finally, Marvin took his hoodie, slipping it on and kissing him lightly on the cheek.

"Love you."

"Love you too," Whizzer said grudgingly.

"Now, let me go practice my surprised face."

"Marvin, if you want to live to see your linguine I'd shut up."

 

Lily noticed it the second she saw them, standing at the edge of the parking lot like they were trying hard to be cool.

"What's that?" she said, running over and gesturing towards Whizzer's hand.

A ring glinted from the fourth finger; Marvin grinned broadly and Whizzer said, "Guess who's going to be a bridesmaid."

Lily shrieked. Like, actually shrieked. She felt people looking over but couldn't find it in herself to care.

"I can't believe it!"

She hugged Marvin, then Whizzer, who patted her on the head, laughing.

"We can talk about it later. Come on, I need to see your bio teacher before the doors close."

"Shall I, what, wait here?" said Marvin.

Whizzer grinned brightly, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. "Won't be long, dear!"

Marvin watched them both go, smiling a little. He felt like he couldn't stop smiling. His cheeks hurt from it.

"Excuse me," came a voice.

He looked round to see it came from a middle aged woman. A soccer mom, Jason would call her, not that Marvin knew what that meant. Her hair was bobbed and her arms were folded.

"Excuse me," she said again, "Please could you move along. The school gates are closing soon."

Marvin looked around, but there were still lots of people around, children and parents. Moms and dads. He looked back at the woman, feeling his smile fade.

"I'm actually waiting for my granddaughter."

The woman's lip curled. "Couldn't you do that somewhere else?"

"Why? I'm not doing anything wrong."

"Well, you were a few moments ago," said the woman, and Marvin felt his heart sink.

"What are you talking about?" he said flatly.

"I think you know."

"No, I don't, actually. Please could you enlighten me?"

Her lip curled further. "No children need to see what you and, and that _person_ were doing. It's not right and it's not proper."

"He kissed my cheek," said Marvin, "It was hardly x-rated stuff."

"It is not appropriate for a school environment around impressionable young children," said the woman. She sounded like she was quoting something. Marvin wondered if there was some book he didn't know about: _W_ _hat to do when you discover a homosexual in your parking lot._

"There are couples everywhere," Marvin pointed out, although the area was considerably emptier by now, "I saw some making out a few minutes ago."

"Well, that's- that's-"

"Different," Marvin finished. "Right. Because it's just homosexual displays of affection that are dangerous."

The woman flinched and went red at the word.

"What's going on?" said one of the few people still there, a large man, more fat than muscle but still an intimidating figure. He started towards Marvin, who tried very hard to not move back. Still thin from his lingering illness and complete lack of exercise, he felt rather like a twig. He felt like the man could reach out and snap him clean in two.

He folded his arms and tilted his chin.

"I have no idea. I had just said goodbye to my fiancé when this woman came over and started asking me to leave."

The man scoffed. "Fiancé," he repeated, "Right. Like people like you can get married."

Marvin blinked at the 'people like you' as though he'd been slapped.

"Look," said the woman, "I don't want trouble. I'm not against your- your lifestyle. I'm just asking that you don't do it around small children. For their sakes. It's just not appropriate."

"It's fucking disgusting is what it is," said the man, and he was suddenly so close that a gobbet of spit landed on Marvin's cheek.

He resisted the urge to wipe it off, tilting his chin up.

"Oh, really?"

The man's face contorted, but before he could say anything Whizzer suddenly popped up at Marvin's elbow.

"We're back!" he said brightly, "Oh, are you making friends, darling?"

The woman muttered something about getting back to her children and disappeared. The man took a step back. He jerked a thumb at Lily, who was standing with a boy a few paces away with a boy about her age and a furious expression.

"That your granddaughter?"

"Yes," said Whizzer, warily, looking between him and Marvin, "What's going on?"

"I don't want you hanging out with that girl," the man said to the boy, then, to Marvin and Whizzer, "Go to hell, faggots."

"See you there!" Whizzer called as he stomped away, the boy casting Lily a nervous look before hurrying after him.

Marvin could feel himself shaking.

"Are you okay?" said Lily, her face losing its anger and turning into worry.

"What a dick," said Whizzer. "What did they say to you?"

"Ju- just how we were being inappropriate on school grounds."

Whizzer scoffed. "So _nothing_ compared to what we're used to."

Marvin nodded, but inside, he somehow felt like it was worse. He knew things weren't perfect, but he thought they were better. He was getting married, for Christ's sake, he thought Whizzer could kiss his cheek in public without them getting burnt at the stake. But apparently not. It was a different time, now, but some things would always remain. And that thought made him feel sick, and it made him feel scared.

"Can we just go home?" said Lily.

Whizzer glanced at him, worry etched in his perfect features, then back at Lily. When he smiled, it looked tired. "Of course, Lily Whizzer."

As they started walking home, Whizzer reached for his hand; Marvin didn't look at him as he pushed it away.


	4. Tough Crowd

Heather Levin often considered herself a very, very lucky woman, because of her job and her house and the fact she'd seen The Book of Mormon with the original Broadway cast, but most of all because of her family.

Her parents would always be her first family. Kind and loving, they had given her the perfect childhood; they had raised her to be kind and open minded; they had paid for her to go to medical school; they hadn't batted an eyelid when she told them about her new boyfriend's family. She had grown up in a house of so much love that it was no surprise that when her mother died of the cancer Heather had diagnosed weeks before the oncologists, it was only a matter of months before her father followed. And then, with no siblings nor extended family, Heather should have been alone. Only, she wasn't.

Heather had met Jason in, well, in kindergarten, she supposed, but then he'd just been the quiet kid with the curly hair and love of chess, whose parents caused a minor scandal in fourth grade when they divorced, the details of which no one knew simply because no fourth grader thought to ask. It wasn't until high school that Heather _saw_ him.

Jason had been missing progressively more school, which nobody really noticed until he missed prom, and Heather only _really_ noticed because her best friend had been his date and she spent the night comforting her in the toilets. So when Jason did come back to school a few days later, Heather marched up to him in the canteen to demand where he'd been and also what the hell his problem was. In front of the entire school, watching the confrontation with bright eyes and held breaths, Jason had told her to go to hell, it was because his dad was dying. And Heather had scoffed and said that was a lie because she'd seen Mendel and Trina in her dad's shop just yesterday, and Jason had said no, his other dad, and Heather had thought he meant Marvin until one of Jason's friends said they'd seen _him_ the other day, and then the entire school had been frowning at Jason trying to work out who was dying until Jason said, "My dad's boyfriend has AIDS" and the school basically rioted.

Before that point, Jason hasn't been popular, exactly, but he'd had friends, guys on the chess team and maths team and baseball team, all nerdy and scrawny and very, very Jewish. But in one revelation, that was gone. Now he sat alone, ate alone, with only the whispers of genetic queerness and infected blood to keep him company. And Heather had felt bad, of course she had, but maybe not as bad as she should've because she didn't know Jason and she didn't understand death and fine _maybe_ she was bitter about wasting her prom night wiping away her friend's tears in the girls' restroom.

But then, a few days after the confrontation in the canteen, Heather stayed late to talk to her biology teacher about going on a biomed course at the local college, and came outside to find Jason curled up near the bike sheds, only half conscious and covered in blood. Upon seeing Heather, Jason had forced himself into an upright position, wincing with the movement.

He had said: "I hope you're happy."

And Heather had said: "What? Why would you think that?"

Jason had said: "I just got beaten up because my dad's gay, and nobody helped me because they think I've got AIDS, and if he wasn't watching Whizzer die while probably dying too the same thing might be happening to my dad."

Heather had stared at him, at his defiant eyes glinting out of his bloody face, and then she'd sat down next to him and said: "I don't think you've got AIDS. Who's Whizzer?"

And then they'd talked. Jason told her about Whizzer, about his father, about seeing them in hospital, and Heather had squeezed his hand when he cried. She apologised, again and again and again, while using the first aid kit she always carried around to clean him up.

Afterwards, she came with him to visit Whizzer in hospital, had laughed when the frail man with the tubes congratulated Jason on finally getting a girlfriend, and forced her face to remain neutral when Marvin kissed his cheek then looked at her sharply, like it was a test. But Heather seemed to have passed; she started hanging out with Jason both in school and at the hospital, became a pro at ignoring taunts about her boyfriend being a homo and found that she soon didn't need to force her facial expressions around his parents at all.

She stayed friends with Whizzer and his visitors, Marvin and Trina and Mendel and Charlotte and Cordelia, even after Jason moved to New Jersey to go to law school. She let him move in when Marvin got ill in 1989, and then, after years of dates being moved to hospitals when one of them relapsed, of kisses in hospital lifts and hands squeezed between plastic chairs, of love blossoming in a place where it seemed so dangerous but still so precious, Jason asked Heather to marry him, and Heather said yes.

And so Jason and Whizzer and Marvin and Trina and Mendel and Charlotte and Cordelia became her family, and then her parents Lillian and Matthew died and her children Lily and Matt were born, and Heather's family moulded and changed, their love ebbed and flowed, constant as the tide but never quite the same, all the way until now, 2011, with her husband and beautiful nearly-grown-up children and Whizzer and Marvin, who had changed her life and opened her eyes and taught a bitter little girl with the perfect childhood that hard, sharp, difficult love was just as good as the simple love she had known, despite its jagged edges.

They were sitting in the living room. It was late; Lily and Matt had long since gone to bed, although with the amount of noise the rest of them were making Heather doubted they were getting much sleep. Jason had gotten out some old photo albums. It was the sort of thing they usually did when they saw Trina and Mendel (Trina liked hearing people's compliments about how pretty she had been, and still was since the only word Heather could use to describe her aging was 'elegant,' and also complaining about her ex-husband, while Mendel seemed to just enjoy hearing her talk), but Marvin and Whizzer were engaged, finally, actually engaged, so it just seemed appropriate.

Jason's photo collection was eclectic. It was a mish-mash of different people's photographs, thrown together from different years with no apparent structure, but what with the patchwork family it belonged to, Heather thought it felt perfect.

She was sitting next to Jason with Whizzer next to her, and Marvin in the chair opposite, swirling his wine and peering at the photos but mostly at Whizzer's bright face. Heather often related to Whizzer, and Mendel, and the lesbians, at the way they weren't born into this crazy family but in joining had shaped it.

Sometimes on the rare occasions she and Jason would argue, he would shut himself in his (their) bedroom like a child, holed up on the phone to Trina or Mendel or Marvin or Whizzer or the lesbians, and Heather would stand outside feeling very separate, very alone, and very much an outsider.

But then, there in the photo album, in between a picture of a grim looking Marvin and Trina and one of Cordelia beaming over the top of an enormous cake, was a photo of her parents, and there they were again, arm in arm with Marvin and Whizzer, and there she was, standing with Jason at the 1998 NYC Pride, one hand waving a little pink-purple-blue flag, the other holding Jason's against the swell of her belly.

Jason turned the page. At the top of it was a picture of him at around ten years old, curly haired and scowling into the camera. Whizzer pointed at it, laughing.

"You look just like Matt," he said, glancing up at Marvin, "Doesn't he look like Matt, darling?"

Marvin made a non committal noise, swirling his wine again before taking a sip.

"And I looked like you," said Jason, oblivious to the way Whizzer was frowning at the sullen figure in the armchair, "A whole lineage of nerdy Jewish boys with messy hair, right?"

Another grunt. Whizzer said, "I was never a nerdy Jewish boy with messy hair."

"Yeah," said Marvin, "You were half Jewish."

"Oh, very _funny,_ dear."

There were no photos of Whizzer pre-Marvin. Heather didn't know if they were somewhere else, with Marvin or the inevitable but blurry idea of Whizzer's blood family, or whether they'd never existed at all.

Underneath that photo was one of Marvin and his mother, taken a few years after he and Trina got married. His eyes were blank and miserable; her grip on his arm was vice-like.

"Lovely woman, your mother," Whizzer said lightly, pointing to it as well.

"Did I ever meet her?" said Heather.

Jason shook his head. "She died when I was ten. Heart attack, wasn't it?"

"Stroke," Marvin said flatly, "Probably for the best. She would've had speech problems, and she wouldn't have been able to cope with not being able to talk. Did you know, when I told her about Whizzer, only after she rang me to say her friend had seen me hanging around with a male prostitute who did I know was a _homosexual,_ because she had spies everywhere, I don't know how I got away with it for so long, anyway, she just hung up the phone, and then a couple of days later I started getting these weird men coming to my apartment offering various treatments. Do you remember that, Whizzer?"

"Yes," Whizzer said quietly.

Marvin laughed. "Well, it turns out it was my mother's doing. She told every crackpot in the vicinity that there were a couple of queers living in number 52 who wanted treatment. It's a miracle we didn't get stoned, honestly. And then when that didn't work, she died! For the first time ever she couldn't control me, so she decided to just die in the hopes I'd ruin my life by always feeling guilty about it." He took a sip of wine before adding, "The ultimate revenge."

Nobody really knew what to say to that, so Jason turned the page again. Heather felt him stiffen. The biggest photograph, alongside a few grainy shots of flowers and a strip of Jason and baby Lily pulling faces in one of those photo booths at the mall, was one of Marvin and Whizzer in hospital. It was dated 1990, so they were both sick, really sick, faces pale and arms frail, their beds pushed together so they could lean against one another. Their eyes were closed, and lying there, skeletal against the crisp white sheets, they almost looked as though they were dead.

Abruptly, Marvin stood up, put his wine down on the coffee table, and went upstairs. Whizzer pushed himself off the sofa and hurried after him, muttering some excuse. Heather heard the guest bedroom door slam, and looked over at Jason. He put his head in his hands.

"This is why we don't look at photos with them," said Jason, voice muffled by his fingers, "They're too _goddamn dramatic_."

Heather laughed, even though she wasn't sure if it was a joke or not. She put her arms around her husband and leant against him, rubbing her chin against his unruly head like she did with Matt when he was upset.

"It's late. They're probably just tired. It's been a long day for them."

"You make it sound like they're really old. They're not. Whizzer's only fifty nine."

"Yes, I know."

Jason sighed. He removed his hands and looked at the photo again before snapping the album shut and throwing it on the floor.

"We should take that photo out. It's horrible."

"It's just a photo," Heather said softly.

"They look _dead_."

"Well, they weren't."

"Do you know how old they were when that photo was taken?" Jason said miserably, "My age. Actually, I think Whizzer was younger. But they look ancient."

"They were very ill," Heather said in a careful voice.

" _Still_ very ill. I thought you were a doctor? Don't you know what a terminal illness is?"

Heather knew better than to argue with Jason when he got like this, angry and bitter and hurting so much he was like broken glass. So she didn't, she just held him and stroked his hair, felt the anger ebb from his shoulders and start to shake with sobs instead.

Sometimes, Heather would think it would be so much easier if she had just kept her original family. She'd still have been heartbroken when her parents died, of course, but that would be it. The worst parts of her life over in a couple of months. But with Jason, it was different. She'd be heartbroken with him if ( _when_ ) the lesbians died, Trina died, Mendel died. And with Marvin and Whizzer, it sometimes felt like an ongoing heartbreak. Like they'd been dying in slow motion ever since she met them and all they were waiting for was for time to speed back up again.

If she had never met Jason, never met his family, this would never have been a problem. Her family would be strictly reserved to her husband and children and parents, and his family would be nothing but the in-laws to her, those people she hated by default and dreaded seeing during the holidays.

But no. Instead, she had this, this life, this patchwork family that Heather had taken into her heart and made her own. And looking at the photo album on the floor, full of memories that were often her own, feeling Jason cry against her for the infinite time in as many years, she found that somehow, she didn't regret it in the slightest.

 

 

Whizzer and Marvin were not crying. They were sitting up in bed, naked except for their underwear (and socks, because their feet got cold and neither cared particularly about appearances anymore), kissing in a way that made Marvin sincerely hope nobody walked in.

And then once that thought was in his head it refused to move, not even when Whizzer kissed his neck _just there,_ trailing his hand down his chest in a way that normally made Marvin melt, but not right then because all he could picture were people walking in, Jason and Trina, eyes as wide in horror as they had been when they first found out, Matt, frowning in that way of his that reminded Marvin so bitterly of Jason, the people in the parking lot, the woman going pale and shrinking back, the man in contrast growing redder and bigger, bright crimson and huge, redder and bigger until he looked like he might explode...

Very firmly, Marvin pushed Whizzer away. Whizzer looked at him under his lashes, lips red, flushed all the way down his chest in a way that was just _sinful._

"Don't do that," said Marvin.

He lay down in bed, pulling the covers over him. Whizzer did the same, reluctantly.

"You're being awfully chaste for a soon to be married man," he said, propping himself up on his elbow and facing Marvin.

"I'm saving myself for our wedding night."

"That's not funny, Marv, you literally had your dick in my ass two days ago."

Marvin frowned, turning to face him. "Three."

"Saturday morning ring any bells?"

"Oh, right, of course."

They stared at each other. Whizzer's face was all shadows and lines and luminous eyes in the darkness.

"What's wrong, Marv?" he said, his voice soft.

"Nothing."

"Darling..."

"Look," said Marvin, feeling himself growing annoyed, although whether it was at Whizzer or the people in the parking lot or just society as a whole he wasn't sure. "Just because I don't want to fool around in my son's guest room it does not mean I'm not perfectly okay."

Whizzer's nose wrinkled, like it did when he was really unimpressed. "Don't be like that, Marvin."

"Like what? A person with morals?"

"Like an asshole," Whizzer said flatly, "I'm too tired to deal with it tonight."

It wasn't until he said it that Marvin realised he felt the same. His legs and chest and entire body, really, ached in a way he hadn't felt since his racketball days, like they'd been squeezed out and hung out to dry. And as cliché as it sounded, his heart hurt too. It was as though his emotions had been wrung out as well.

"Me too," he admitted. Then: "I'm sorry."

Whizzer looked at him for a moment  
There was a thump as he turned onto his back.

"I'm really tired," said Whizzer, "It was a long walk to that ring shop."

"It wasn't _that_ long."

Marvin rolled onto his back too. They both watched car headlights flicker across the dark ceiling.

"It felt like it."

"I know," said Marvin, quietly.

They lay there in silence for a moment.

"We really are getting old," said Marvin.

"Don't say that."

"Fine, _you're_ getting old."

"Seriously, Marvin," said Whizzer, "Stop it. I'm _not_. I'm _not_ that old, okay?"

Marvin frowned at the sudden crack in his voice. "What's wrong?"

When they turned to face each other again, Whizzer's eyes were brimming with tears.

"What if I'm not getting old," he said, "What if I'm getting sick? What if we're both getting sick again, Marvin, and we don't get to get married, and we don't get to see the kids get married, and we don't get to be fucking _old_."

Marvin's stomach twisted into something very cold.

"You're not getting sick again," he said, trying to convince himself as much as Whizzer, "You're tired. You're just tired. It _was_ a long walk."

Whizzer swallowed, nodded. He sniffed, loud and snotty and ugly, wiping a hand across his face with a laugh.

"I'm sorry, you're right. It's just," another laugh bubbled out, that sounded more like a sob, "It's just looking at those stupid photos reminded me how much I really fucking hate being sick."

"I know," Marvin said quietly. He thought of hospitals. Of tubes and bones. Of cold arms and hot faces and lungs that felt like they could drown you. "Me too."

"I'm being selfish. You're the one that's upset."

"No I'm not."

Whizzer looked at him. His eyes were shining with something sad and lovely in the darkness, and his mouth was twitched into that condescending smile Marvin used to hate so much.

"Yes I am."

When Whizzer moved closer to him, took hold of his hands and held them on the bed between them, Marvin didn't stop him.

"It was those people in the parking lot, wasn't it?" he asked, but not like it was a question at all, because Whizzer knew, he just knew; he knew him better than anyone.

Marvin nodded. Whizzer nodded too, exhaling slowly. He squeezed his hands.

"We've had worse than that, Marv."

"I know, it's just-" Just that it had been a while. Just that Marvin thought now they could marry in his state things might be different. "Just that Lily was there."

"She can deal with it."

"She shouldn't have to."

"I know," said Whizzer softly, "But she can, and she does. Hell, look at her bio class. Better than what I was doing at her age."

"But what if it's worse next time?" Marvin pressed, his voice growing desperate, "What if Matt's there? Or Heather, or Jason? You know, I see the way he looks at me sometimes, and I know he's still thinking that if I wasn't the way I am-"

"His life would be a great deal shittier," Whizzer said firmly, "Because he wouldn't have the lesbians. Wouldn't have Mendel. Wouldn't have _me_."

"He might still have you," said Marvin, "We might've become friends anyway. You'd be his weird uncle."

"Gee, thanks."

"What I'm saying," said Marvin, "Is that it isn't fair for my family to have to deal with my problems."

"Your problems?" Whizzer echoed, pulling a face, "Marvin, you don't have any problems. _W_ _e_ don't have any problems. It's those homophobic assholes with the problems, okay? Not us."

"Well, it's still not fair on them. I know they're strong, but what if they're not strong enough?" Marvin faltered. "What if _I'm_ not strong enough?"

Whizzer snorted. "I'm hardly bodybuilder physique either, darling."

"You are strong, though," Marvin insisted, "On the inside."

"I'm not even _that,_ have you seen the x-rays of my lungs?"

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

There was a pause.

"You're stronger than me," said Marvin, his voice small, "You don't care what people think about you."

"That's called being egotistical."

Marvin ignored him. "I know I shouldn't care what people think about me, think about _us_ , but I still do, okay?"

"Then don't!"

"It's not that easy for me!"

"You think it is for me, either?" Whizzer exhaled, pulled one hand away from Marvin's to run it through his hair, fluffing it up like he was twenty nine all over again. "Look, I care what they say too, okay? I'd be crazy if I didn't. But they're the ones in the wrong, darling. And if we know that, we can put a brave face on it all and act like we don't give a damn, until eventually, we almost don't."

"Fake it till you make it," Marvin said dully.

"Exactly."

They were quiet for a moment. Marvin watched orange slant across the white walls of Jason's guest room, across the perfect contours of his lover's face.

"You are strong, though," he said eventually, "Really strong. But sometimes, you're so strong you make me feel strong too. When you're there you make me feel like I don't care either. You just, I don't know."

Whizzer watched as he flailed, lips twitching.

"You make me feel like we're right," said Marvin, "You make me feel brave."

And when Whizzer smiled at him, his eyes were so full of love they seemed to melt.

"Why the hell didn't you propose like that?"

Marvin huffed a laugh, giving him a shove and rolling onto his back. "You're still hung up over that?"

Whizzer snuggled up to him, nestling his chin into the space between his shoulder and neck. "Of course I am. We can finally get married, it's our one chance and your perfect opportunity to be romantic for once and you just stand there looking gormless!"

"I'm very romantic," Marvin protested, "I'll prove it at our wedding."

"Mm, our wedding."

"We'll be together forever."

Whizzer laughed, his breath warm against Marvin's neck. "I thought we were going to do that anyway."

"Well, marriage cements it, doesn't it?"

"Your first one didn't."

"Stop it, you're ruining the moment."

Whizzer laughed again, and Marvin put his arms around him and held him closer. They lay there, like they had so many times, a tangle of arms and legs, of shared breaths, of synced heartbeats.

Marvin was almost asleep when he heard him whisper, "What if we don't grow old together?"

"We'll grow old _er_ together. One day at a time, just like we always have."

"But what if that's not that long?" Whizzer said quietly.

"It doesn't matter," said Marvin, pulling him tighter to him, "I'll take as many days as I can."

"Even if it's not long? Even if it's just tomorrow?"

"Even if it's just tomorrow," Marvin promised.

"What if I wake up really ugly? Or as a woman?"

Marvin laughed into Whizzer's hair. "Go to sleep, baby."

"I think I'd still love you if you were a woman," Whizzer said thoughtfully.

"God, really?"

"Mm."

"What if I was ugly?"

"Well, you're already ugly, but luckily I'm pretty enough for both of us."

"Thank you."

"It's okay though," said Whizzer, "I said I'd still love you. I'll still love you tomorrow. I'll love you for all the tomorrows."

And Marvin kissed his forehead and held him in his arms and, eventually, long after Whizzer's breaths had evened out, he fell asleep too.

 

 

"Are you sure this is okay?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "For the hundredth time, Whizzer, _yes_."

Whizzer nodded, smoothing down his bright purple jacket before running his hands through his hair, and Mr Brailey laughed. The three of them were in his classroom, Mr Brailey at his desk, Lily sitting on one of the tables swinging her legs and Whizzer standing nervously at the front of the classroom, because lunch was ending and the last period was starting in approximately two minutes - and ninth grade had biology.

"You'll be fine," said Lily, "You've done heaps of speeches, remember?"

"Not like this," Whizzer groaned, "Marvin was right, this was a crazy idea. My partner," he added to Mr Brailey in explanation, "Fiancé, actually."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"And Lily's right," said Mr Brailey, "You will be fine. They're not monsters."

"They're _high schoolers_ ," said Whizzer, like it was a million times worse, which if Lily thought about it it actually probably was.

Mr Brailey laughed again. "You say you've done talks before?"

"Charity things," said Whizzer, waving a hand, "Dinners and the like. But not in front of kids, and not without Marvin."

Lily rolled her eyes. Whizzer tended to start going on about Marvin when he was nervous. She hoped it calmed his down. Mr Brailey seemed to pick up on this as he said, "How long have you two been together?"

Whizzer's face brightened. "Thirty years, now, properly."

Mr Brailey gave a low whistle. "You two must get on well."

"Not really, he's an asshole," Whizzer said, as fondly as if he'd just said he loved him, "Do you want to see a picture?"

Whizzer reached into his pocket, but before he could pull out his phone there was a deafening shriek from the school bell. He took out his hand and clasped it in the other instead, looking queasy. Lily saw him swallow as she jumped off the desk and went and sat in her own seat.

"You'll be fine," she said as the first few people starting to trickle in, casting Whizzer confused glances, "Just relax."

Whizzer smiled tightly at her. He sat down on the chair Mr Brailey had placed at the front of the room for him, crossing his long legs and drumming his fingers on his knees. The classroom slowly filled up, and with every addition the noise level increased, until the curious whispers sounded deafening even to Lily.

"Okay," said Mr Brailey when the classroom was full, "Is Ellie Affeld here?"

He took roll call, and Lily saw Whizzer wince; he'd never gone into details, but she knew he didn't exactly love school, although then again who did. When Mr Brailey finished, he stood up and hit the desk of a girl in the front row; she jumped, everyone jumped, and the last remaining whispers flickered and died.

"So," said Mr Brailey, "Y'all are probably wondering who our visitor is. Well, this is Mr Whizzer Brown, Lily's grandfather."

Murmurs.

Mr Brailey tapped the board with his pen, and they quietened, although the many eyes fixed on Whizzer did not abate. "Now, who remembers what we did last lesson?"

Derek put his hand up. Mr Brailey pointed his pen at him, and he said, "We started looking at HIV."

"Correct," said Mr Brailey, "And I thought, well, what better way to learn more about the disease than to get an actual sufferer here to talk to us?"

More murmurs. Louder. The eyes on Whizzer seemed to intensify. Whizzer himself smiled nervously, glinting like mirror shards under the spotlight of stares.

"I'm sure you all have a lot of questions for Mr Brown-"

"It's Whizzer, please," said Whizzer, speaking for the first time. His voice was bright and clear; only Lily could hear the panic hovering beneath it .

" _Whizzer_ , so I'll let him go ahead."

Lily heard a mutter from the back row, a snigger of laughter, and supremely hoped Whizzer didn't. His cheeks were a little pink as he stood up, smoothing down his jacket again.

"Hi, I'm Whizzer," he said, "Um, I'm fifty nine. Virgo, I think. And, yeah, I've got HIV."

Silence. Deafening silence. Then someone said, "You're not fifty nine."

"I am, actually," said Whizzer, and Lily smiled a little at the pride in his voice. She never knew whether it was because he looked a lot younger than that...or because he was proud of having survived that long. She sincerely hoped it was the first option.

"You don't look fifty nine," said a girl near the back, "Are you really her grandad?"

She waved a hand dismissively in Lily's direction. Lily hoped Whizzer didn't notice it, didn't pick up on the fact that the girl (Rosa Fielding, who liked horses and hated her little brother) obviously didn't know Lily's name, despite having been in the same science class as her all year.

"Yes," said Whizzer, flashing Lily a quick smile, "Well. Step-grandad, I suppose."

"Does she have HIV?"

The question came from James. James with the glasses who Lily had known since kindergarten. It was blunt, but not malicious; it was a genuine question. Lily stiffened. Whizzer did too, jolting back like he'd been slapped.

"No," he said, "No she doesn't, nor does her dad. Nobody in my family is HIV positive apart from me and my partner. Fiancé. And unless I suddenly start bleeding or fucking y'all, no one else is _going_ to get infected. Okay?"

Nobody said anything, but there were a few nods. Lily rather thought they were more shocked by the swear than anything else, although Mr Brailey didn't comment on it, sitting stilly at his desk, chin propped up on his hands, eyes narrow. Whizzer nodded too.

"Okay," he said again, a little lamely, "Um, are there any questions, then?"

A dozen hands shot up.

Whizzer raised his eyebrows, his eyes widening a little. "Wow, okay, um, what's your question?"

He pointed at a girl in the second row, who leant forward with a serious expression and said, "How did you get infected?"

Lily saw Whizzer's back straighten. He frowned, bit his lip, as though considering how best to word his reply.

"When I was younger," he said carefully, "I was, let's face it, a mess. And that manifested itself in me being... What does Marvin call it?"

"Promiscuous," said Lily, trying to ignore the way everyone glanced at her as she said it.

"Promiscuous," Whizzer repeated, nodding.

"Who's Marvin?" said Derek.

Whizzer's face brightened, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. "He's my fiancé."

There was another silence. The sort of silence that felt like a weight pressing down on the room.

"Fiancé?" Lily heard someone mutter, "I thought people like that couldn't get married?"

Lily felt her cheeks flush, but before she could retort Whizzer, folding his arms and tilting his chin, said, " _People like that_ can get married in New York, actually, which is where I live. Also that us vs them mentality is really damaging."

She watched, as did the rest of the class, heart beating so loudly she could hear it in her ears, as Whizzer uncrossed his arms and used his hands to gesticulate.

"Gay people aren't any different to straight people. I know what y'all think, that we're _funny_ , that we're _weird_ , that we should possibly go burn in the fiery pits of _hell,_ but literally the only difference between my gay fiancé and his son is the fact that one likes boys and one likes girls. Just like black people aren't different to white people, and women aren't different to men, etcetera etcetera. And as one of those old school _homosexuals_ , who was around when you could get fucking _arrested_ for looking at a man the wrong way, I can tell you that the lingering homophobia has no place in these times. Just like anti-semitism, just like sexism, just like racism. You wouldn't come up here and say doc shouldn't _teach_ because he's black, would you?"

The class shook their heads. Mr Brailey's lips twitched.

"You do know I'm not a doctor," he said, sounding amused and also something close to emotional.

Whizzer pulled a face and waved his hand. "My point is that how is it any different offensive-wise to me being told me and my partner of thirty years, who probably love each other a _hell_ of a lot more than some of your straight parents do, can't get married?"

The room was quiet, staring at Whizzer no longer in shock or mild disgust but in wonder. Lily felt like she should applaud. Whizzer was breathing hard.

"Now," he said, "Are there any more questions?"

There was a pause, then one of the boys in the back row yelled, "Have you had it in the ass?"

"I don't think that's really appropriate," said Mr Brailey over the outbreak of sniggering that to Lily's awe most of the class looked personally offended by.

"Kind of disregarding everything I just said, but yes," said Whizzer, "Lots of times."

The laughter cut short, replaced by a mildly impressed silence from even the back row at such an abrupt reply, interrupted only by Mr Brailey's snort. Satisfied, Whizzer sat down, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair.

"Now, if question time has resorted to you asking me where I put my dick, I think it's time I told y'all about a couple of people called the Reagans..."

 

 

"You were amazing," said Lily.

It was the end of the day; class had ended twenty minutes ago, during which time half the class and Mr Brailey at least ten times had thanked Whizzer and told him the same thing. Lily was surprised he hadn't floated away with how inflated his head must've been.

Whizzer smiled down at her, vaguely. "I was, wasn't I?"

"You really were. Darren, that's that guy who made the ass comment, said he thought you were cool! That's, like, incredible! And Elias, his dad was the one who was mean to grandad Marvin, said he was going to try and change his family's minds!"

Lily shook her head, smile wide in awe, hurting from its brightness.

" _You_ changed their minds, Whizzer. I _knew_ you could."

"Well, I wasn't going to let you down, was I?"

Lily frowned, feeling something deflate inside her. Whizzer's tone was airy, but beneath that something was... Off. And when she looked closer, his smile was too bright, too brittle. It looked like fractured shards of a mirror, like it could smash at any moment. His eyes were very wide.

"Are you okay?"

Whizzer nodded, quickly, too quickly. "I'm great, Lily Whizzer. Can I just... Can I just have a moment?"

They were in the stairwell. Whizzer leant over the railing, elbows propped up on it, head in his hands. His back was to Lily, but she could see his shoulders shaking. Lily felt very awkward. She didn't cope well with sadness. Comforting people was far more her mother's domain (although since part of her job was telling people they were probably going to die it kind of had to be). Heather, and her dad, actually, always seemed to know exactly what to say, those magic words to make everything better. Lily really didn't.

"Are you okay?" she said again, helplessly.

"I'm fine," said Whizzer, voice muffled by his hands.

Lily stared at him, biting her lip and tapping her foot. It was even worse that Whizzer was the one breaking down; Marvin she might have been able to cope with, but not _Whizzer,_ brave, strong, infallible Whizzer. The more selfish part of her brain told her that it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair for him to do this to her, not when she was so happy after the talk, not she she had no idea what to do.

"What's wrong?" she said, her voice growing impatient, "Is it something I did? Is it the school? Is it something to do with grandad Marvin?"

"Marvin," Whizzer repeated, his voice no longer sounding just muffled but sluggish, dry, "Call Marvin."

"What?"

"Call Marvin," Whizzer said again, and Lily suddenly realised his shoulders weren't shaking in surprise or sadness, but jolting as he struggled to catch his breath, again and again. "Lily, call Marvin right now."

Lily suddenly didn't feel annoyed at all. She just felt very small, and very young, and very scared. "Whizzer?"

"Ca-"

Whizzer didn't even finish the word. Because he took a last, gasping, breath, then his entire body went slack. Lily screamed. Mr Brailey ran out of his classroom, took one look at the man crumpled on the floor, and called an ambulance. And as the ambulance arrived, and a lady with a blanket took her to one side and gave her a hug, all Lily could think about was the way epiphanies had felt around her, at Whizzer's proud smile when everyone thanked him, and the way he had told her to call Marvin. Voice rough, voice desperate.

Like it was the answer, but also like it was the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert: Whizzer's okay.


	5. Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I ended the last chapter horribly and I'm not sure when I'll next be able to update, have another chapter (what's an update schedule) with a lil bit of fluff and a lil bit of Trindel.

Whizzer had fluid on his lungs. To Lily, he always seemed to have some there (sometimes she imagined she could hear it sloshing around), but then he'd gone on a two hour walk, and then he'd had what was apparently a panic attack, and then he'd passed out, and then it was the flashing lights trip to the hospital. He was given a chest drain, a leaflet about mindfulness and three nights on the pulmonary diseases ward. Marvin stayed with him the whole time, sitting up on the hospital bed asking the nurses how their families were, since apparently the two of them were on first names terms with every hospital on the east coast.

Heather visited them on her breaks, and Jason took three days off work and took Lily and Matt to see them after school. On the second day Lily bought a get well soon card that a girl in her biology class had made and got everyone to sign, even the boys on the back row, and Whizzer laughed and propped it up next to the flowers Trina somehow always knew to send. Marvin said Whizzer was getting more popular every time they went there, like it was a holiday, like it was a joke, and everyone else laughed like they thought it was too.

But they hadn't seen him. They hadn't heard him. And looking at him in his bed, pale but grinning, leaning against Marvin talking excitedly to Jason about ammendments and Domestic Relations Laws and _t_ _hose goddamn Republicans_ , all Lily could think about was the fear in his eyes and the glassiness in his smile and the sheer desperation in his voice as his shoulders shook and his lungs drowned.

They came out of hospital on Friday and went home on Sunday, and it was then that the nightmares started. In her dreams, Lily watched her grandfathers, in hospital beds like she'd seen in the old photographs of them, sitting on her sofa, or usually standing at the top of a long flight of stairs. Sometimes her parents would be there too, and Matt, and her other grandparents, and Charlotte and Cordelia, all standing there, staring at her with their eyes wide in empty terror. Lily would feel her heart start beating, louder and louder, faster and faster, until it was thumping in her ears. The figures would open their mouths and liquid would spill out, sometimes dribbling grotesquely, sometimes gushing out so fast it looked like it would never stop, so much it washed around her ankles, her knees, her waist, her neck, so much it drowned them all. The dream would always end the same way, with the heartbeat crescendoing and the water drowning and Whizzer going "Call Marvin" in the same scared, insistent way, and them all saying it, _call call call,_ again and again, screeching it, demanding it, until Lily jolted awake, shaking, covered in sweat and with her face wet with tears.

She started feeling tired through the day, eyes heavy and head blurred, like it had been filled with cotton wool and hung with weights. But she kept going, kept going to school to read her books and be ignored, kept smiling at her parents and glaring at Matt, kept talking with her grandads over their weekly Skype sessions and pretending she didn't watch them die every single night.

June blurred into July, and summer vacation began. At first, Lily slept more than ever, hoping, _praying,_ it could clear her head and remove the nightmares, or at least make her get used to them so she could feel some semblance of life again. But that didn't work; if anything, it made them worse, so she tried the opposite direction and stopped sleeping altogether. But that didn't work either, because she'd be sitting up on her phone or with her book and fall asleep anyway, waking up with sore neck and a racing heart. And then she'd end up falling asleep during the day, on the sofa or in the car or, once, sitting on a bench in the park, where her mother had to shake her awake because she was screaming so loudly.

Her parents noticed. Of course they noticed; their bedrooms were close together, and Lily often woke up hoarse. They offered her chamomile tea and sleeping pills and hugs in careful voices, like she might shatter if they pressed too hard. They asked her why she was having nightmares in even gentler voices, but Lily refused to answer. She knew her parents were upset about exactly the same things, and she didn't want to make that worse, either by reminding them or by adding to it, because Lily had always been perfect and easy and unproblematic and she really wasn't planning on changing that now. Plus, she was handling. She was. Yeah, she dreaded going to sleep, and yeah, she felt like she was living in a constant fog, but she was _dealing._

Jason was the first one to suggest a psychiatrist. He and Heather were watching TV one evening; Lily had just gone downstairs to fetch her book when she heard them.

"She needs to talk to someone about it," Jason was saying, "And she won't talk to us."

"She should be able to!" Heather snapped back, and Lily realised with a lurch of horror that her parents were arguing, and they were arguing about her.

"Well, she's not. But I'm worried about her!"

"I'm worried about her too, but-"

"Is it the money? Because she could always talk to Mendel."

"How dare you suggest it's about money," said Heather, her voice suddenly icy, "Also Mendel is a terrible therapist."

"He's not that bad," Jason said, unconvincingly.

"Jason, he's a lovely man and a very good friend, but he's the worst psychiatrist I have ever met."

And then they both started laughing, hands over their mouth like they were worried they'd get caught, and Lily left her book and tip-toed upstairs.

Matt was standing at the door to his room, obviously listening.

"You're going crazy," he told Lily as she pushed past him to get into her own room.

"No I'm not."

"Are you having the hell dream?"

Lily stopped and looked at him. "What?"

"You know," said Matt, lips twitching, "The spooky mormon one?"

And Lily told him quite succinctly how to get there himself, and shut herself in her room yet again.

 

 

Meanwhile, fifty four and a half miles away, Marvin and Whizzer were having dinner.

Whizzer had been in hospital for almost the entirety of the eighties, and when Marvin joined him in 1989 there were a few months with both of them at death's door, holding hands as machines bleeped and family fussed around them. For a time, death seemed inevitable. Until one day it wasn't. They got, well, not better, but bett _er_ _;_ they got off the critical care unit and, eventually, out of hospital altogether.

And it was then that they started their tradition: dinner at somewhere not particularly fancy, not particularly unusual, just nice food and non-judgemental staff, then back to their apartment for either mind-blowing sex or a few episodes of whatever program they were currently binge watching (Whizzer had been thinking of the former, but Marvin was currently pretending he still had some heterosexuality by watching Game of Thrones, which became a little redundant at his obvious crush on Kit Harington).

But first, dinner. The place was nicer than usual at Whizzer's insistence, because their engagement excitement had kind of been cut short by his impromptu hospital trip and he was determined to make it count. Only, given neither of them had much appetite anymore, they were paying double what they normally did on some velvet drapery and carpets that didn't make noises when you stepped on them.

And of course, Whizzer thought, sickening even himself, the beautiful albeit over-the-top decor seemed redundant when Marvin was the one sitting opposite him, Marvin, in a nice suit for once, Marvin, his hair smooth and sleek rather than its usual unruly state, Marvin, forlornly staring at the elegantly arranged lettuce leaves on his plate.

"Should've gone to Olive Garden," he said, picking up his fork and spearing an olive from the little pot in the middle of the table.

Whizzer glared at him. "We don't go there anymore!"

"They called us friends _once_. It was an innocent mistake."

"We were holding hands!"

"They probably thought I was too good for you to possibly be dating."

"Ha ha ha."

"Look, we'll make out next time okay?" said Marvin, eating an olive and adding with his mouth full, "Make them think you've got a chance with me."

"Ooh, what do you think would happen if we made out here? Yay or nay to thrown bibles?"

"That's not the right time to say yay or nay," said Marvin, still chewing, "That implies there's an option to want bibles thrown at us. And actually I'm going to backtrack and say there's never a right time to say yay or nay."

Whizzer glared at him as Marvin spat the stone into his hand, looked at it for a moment, then put it on the edge of his plate where they were starting to accumulate.

"Don't do that. It's actually disgusting. No, stop it," Whizzer moaned as Marvin reached for another olive, "They make your mouth taste of garlic."

Chin resting on his hand, Marvin speared an olive and reached across the table to nudge it against Whizzer's mouth.

"Open wide."

"I hate olives," said Whizzer, turning his head away.

"Have you ever tried one?"

At Whizzer's silence, Marvin rolled his eyes. "You're worse than Jason. How do you know you don't like it until you try it?"

Whizzer scowled at him, but opened his mouth and ate the olive off his fork. Marvin raised his eyebrows as Whizzer instantly spat it out.

"Who's being disgusting now?"

"They're gross," Whizzer spluttered, downing his glass of wine, "How the hell do you eat them?"

"They're an acquired taste," Marvin said smugly, "When you're grown up you'll like them."

Whizzer ignored him, peering on and then under the table. "Where the hell did our wine go?"

"We drank it all," said Marvin, "Because we don't like the food here. Which wouldn't be a problem if we'd gone to Olive Garden."

"Just because you've got a breadstick fetish-"

Whizzer broke off as a couple at the next table looked over at them in horror. He glanced at Marvin, and they both started giggling, hands over their mouths to muffle the sound.

"You're awful," Marvin whispered, "Actually awful."

"Breadstick fetish," Whizzer whispered back, and they both started laughing again.

Another couple shot them a dirty look, one that lingered on the way their ankles crossed under the table. Whizzer stopped laughing and took hold of Marvin's hand, pointedly. Marvin rolled his eyes but didn't let go.

"You're just asking for bible target practice now."

"Let's go to Olive Garden next time," said Whizzer, "At least there we can feel comradery with the snobs as we all look disgustedly at the crying children."

"Baby, I mean this in the nicest possible way but I think saying that makes you a snob."

"I can't be classist, I'm gay. I know what discrimination is."

"That's completely besides the point. That's like saying you can't be black and sexist."

"Well, I'm neither black or sexist," said Whizzer, " _And_ I've seen Les Mis at _least_ ten times."

Marvin wrinkled his nose. "I can't stand Les Mis."

"How can you hate Les Mis, you've seen it like ten times!"

"Very clever," said Marvin, tracing circles on the inside of Whizzer's wrist. Whizzer smiled at him; he could feel his pulse fluttering.

"Can we play guess the Republican?"

"That's easy, baby, they're all Republicans."

"And that's _cheating_." Whizzer picked up his glass, remembered it was empty and put it back down again. "Can we get more wine? Actually, you know what we should get?" He didn't wait for Marvin to really guess, "Champagne."

"That's going to cost the equivalent of liquid gold here," said Marvin, dropping Whizzer's hand to leaf through the menu, "Besides, what are we celebrating? We got engaged weeks ago now."

Whizzer smiled sweetly at him. "We're celebrating _us._ The fact that we're still together."

Marvin sighed reminiscently. "After thirty years."

"Well, I was going to say the few weeks since we got engaged, but sure, that's more romantic."

Marvin laughed. And then had an idea.

"What are you doing?" said Whizzer as Marvin stood up from the table, then knelt in front of him.

"Take your ring off," Marvin hissed.

"Oh my god," said Whizzer, doing as he said, "You _genius_."

The room had gone quiet. Whizzer could feel a lot of eyes on him as Marvin took off his own ring and held it out in front of him.

"Whizzer Brown," he said, his voice full of emotion and his mouth twitching with laughter, "It has been thirty two years since we first met, and since that day I have known we were meant to be. Our love together has been perfect and easy, without a single problem or argument. Will you marry me?"

And Whizzer said, "Yes! Yes!" and used the noise of the rather unexpected applause to give an unattractive snort of laughter as Marvin slipped his ring on his finger and sat back down.

"That was beautiful," he heard someone sniff.

"Truly beautiful," Whizzer agreed, smirking at Marvin, "Never an argument, my ass."

Marvin pretended to hit his forehead. "Damn it, I forgot that! I'll talk about it next time."

"Next time?" said Whizzer, raising his eyebrows.

A waitor appeared suddenly with a bottle of champagne, and everyone clapped again as he poured Marvin and Whizzer a glass. Marvin smirked and clinked their glasses together before taking a sip.

"What do you think the champagne's like at Olive Garden?"

 

Trina Weisenbachfeld had sent a lot of flowers over the years.

Her mother always said that when something bad happened, flowers were good because they showed you were thinking of them without being too pushy. They were ladylike and simple, and they added beauty and scent and colour to even the worse situation. In a word, her mother's word, they made things lovely. (Of course, her mother wouldn't have expected Trina, quiet Trina, the stereotypical good girl who was destined for a simple middle class life with a simple Jewish husband, to send most of her flowers to her _ex_ husband and his lover as they lay dying of the renowned homosexual disease, but that was besides the point.)

Getting back to the point, Trina had also sent flowers during happy times. When Jason and Heather got married, got jobs, got children; when Lily started middle school and Matt won a chess competition; when the lesbians (who Trina had actually become very good friends with after she got over the fact they were, well, lesbians) got engaged, for despite her qualms with homosexuals she truly believed they should be able to be safe and happy and married.

And she couldn't wish that on anyone more than Marvin and Whizzer. Her ex husband and the man he left her for, who Trina had despised for such a long time but also cried over. Who had ruined her life but also given it back to her. Who had had the worst luck in the world and now too deserved to be safe and happy and _married._

When Trina heard that same-sex marriage was to be legalized in their state, she'd expected to hear from them by the end of the week. But, nothing. Scarsdale wasn't that far from New York City, but it felt suddenly like hundreds of miles when she couldn't just get the subway to their apartment to badger them, like it was Jason's Bar Mitzvah all over again.

Surprisingly, since that day her relationship with the men had improved. Perhaps it was the fact that she spent so many years thinking each day was their last; perhaps it was simply because after Jason moved away they didn't have anything to bicker over. Whatever it was, these days the four of them weren't best friends, exactly, but with time the awkwardness that came from Trina walking in on the two of them, well, doing things _she_ had never done with Marvin, and him leaving her, and her marrying his psychiatrist, had faded. The scars between them, once open wounds, bleeding and hurting and causing an all-round mess, were now just that, scars. Silly silvery things like the tiny one on Trina's left cheek where Marvin's nail left a mark when he hit her that time, painful only in the memories they held and invisible unless you were really looking for them.

So considering that, Trina thought that it was distinctly not okay that she found out about their engagement through _Facebook._

She was sitting up in bed, curly hair pushed away from her face with an alice band, scrolling through Facebook. Carefully, because the yellow nail varnish Cordelia got her her birthday (she always said yellow was her colour when they looked at old photos, and Trina looked down at her nails now and _agreed_ ) was still at that tacky stage where one touch could ruin it entirely. Her eyes scanned over friends' posts, glazed over a little bit too because honestly she preferred living in the moment to watching other people's lives through a screen. Jason had insisted he set her up with Facebook, though; he said it was so she could watch the kids grow up, although seeing as he had posted a grand total of three times there was no logic whatsoever in that theory.

She did pause to watch a video she kept seeing pop up, though, out of sheer curiosity. It was a shaky, taken on someone's phone across a restaurant. Trina turned up the sound as it zoomed in on a man kneeling on the ground, obviously proposing. She frowned. A man who looked very familiar indeed.

"Will you marry me?" said Marvin, and the camera panned out to another man sitting at the table who just so happened to be Whizzer Brown.

The video stopped, then restarted. This time, Trina listened to what Marvin said. And she couldn't help it. She started laughing.

"What is it?" said Mendel, rushing into the room with toothpaste all around his mouth, "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Are you... Are you laughing?"

Trina laughed harder. "Look at this!"

Mendel came and sat down on the bed, hands raised like he was approaching a startled animal. Trina tilted her phone towards him. Mendel made an 'ah' noise.

"That's that video that's been going round," he said, giving a little nod, "Viral."

Mendel had Facebook. Jason said he used it to send cat pictures and Pepe memes to him.

Trina's mouth fell open, and she lifted her hand to cover it. "Marvin and Whizzer have gone viral?"

Mendel made a sympathetic noise. "They're ill again?"

"No, _no,_ just... Watch the video again."

He did. Mendel mouthed the words. And then the camera zoomed in, and his eyes grew very wide. He looked up at Trina, mouth falling open too.

"That's... Is that...?"

"Marvin and Whizzer!"

They both watched the video again. Mendel smelt of toothpaste and Trina's special lavender hand cream that she kept telling him wasn't soap.

"Never argued?" Mendel repeated when they got to that part, "They must be joking."

Trina hit his arm (Mendel winced).

"You're right! This isn't a real engagement, look!"

Everyone started clapping; Trina narrowed her eyes, then hit Mendel again when she saw Marvin and Whizzer share a conspiring grin.

"Ow."

"Did you see that? That smile?"

"I didn't even see Marvin and Whizzer," said Mendel, sounding a little anxious, "Do you think I need glasses?"

"Those bastards!" said Trina.

"Because glasses really wouldn't suit my face shape."

"I bet they've been engaged for weeks! They probably just pretended then for free drinks or something!"

"I think I need glasses," Mendel said miserably, "I've seen this video about twenty times and I never realised who it was."

Trina put her arm around her husband and wiped the toothpaste off his mouth with the hem of her nightdress.

"We'll ask Heather about it when we next see her."

"She's a surgeon, not an optometrist. That would be like asking me to diagnose cancer."

"And that is a scary thought," said Trina, kissing his nose lightly, "Come to bed, darling."

Mendel pressed his lips against hers, briefly, before getting up to turn off the light and climbing into bed next to her. He pressed his icy feet against her warm ones, but Trina couldn't find it in herself to complain.

Trina had flowers to send.


	6. Viral

The next morning, Matt came downstairs and said, "Grandad Marvin and Whizzer have gone viral."

Matt was the youngest. The youngest sibling, and also the youngest out of his entire extended family, because despite how much he used to hope for it nobody else had had any children (which he supposed considering the number of homosexuals in his family wasn't exactly surprising, but still). But still.

Being the youngest had its perks, of course; he could get away with far more than Lily, and do things earlier than she had been allowed to, and was always treated with a certain kind of fondness. But that quickly got annoying. The main negative to being the youngest, youngest sibling and youngest everything, was that he just was not taken seriously. The proof being that when he told his family that his grandads had gone freaking _viral,_ they just looked at him in mild surprise, as though the fridge had started talking.

Matt knew he was quiet. It was just that a lot of the time, he didn't see much point in talking. Small talk was stupid, people were stupid, and besides, Lily did most of the talking. Older Lily, bright, vivacious, perfect Lily, as clever and as pretty as their mom and without any of Jason's family traits of precociousness or neurosis or homosexuality.

"They've gone _viral_ ," he said, stressing the word in the hope his family would understand its significance.

Lily was the first to acknowledge him, going " _What_?", just like that. She was sitting at the kitchen table in her pyjamas, eyes rimmed with purple like she'd been punched. Matt knew she was having nightmares or something, but when he asked his parents they just said it was probably something to do with hormones, and that it would pass. That had been a while ago. Matt thought they were lying to him which he wouldn't be surprised about because he was the youngest and it felt like it happened a lot. Never big lies; it was more as though they didn't know how to explain things to him, or that they didn't want to, or that they couldn't be bothered. The verbal equivalent of a pat on the head.

"Why d'you think that?" said Jason, who was frying bacon. Heather was leaning against the counter next to him, blowing on her mug of tea and looking like she was mentally working out fire escapes.

"Grandad Mendel sent it to me on Facebook," said Matt. He sat down at the table opposite Lily.

"Seriously?" said Jason, fishing his phone out his pocket with one hand while holding the pan with the other, "All he sends me are cat pictures and that stupid frog. Nope, no video."

"Probably because you've logged out of Facebook."

"Oh, yeah. Which was probably because he kept sending me cat pictures."

"What did he send to you?" said Heather.

"It's a video of Grandad Marvin proposing," said Matt, pulling it up again on his phone (new phone, which Whizzer had got him) to show Lily and his parents.

Matt watched their faces as it played, Lily's showing confusion, Heather and Jason's dawning understanding.

"I thought they'd already got engaged," Lily said when it got to the end.

Heather snorted. She was mouthing the words _never an argument_. Jason shook his head and said, "The cheapskates are obviously just doing it for the champagne. You're seriously telling me that that balegan has gone viral?"

"Yup," said Matt, pretending to know what balegan meant, "Someone filmed it and put it on Facebook, then everyone started sharing it, then someone put it on YouTube and _everyone_ started sharing it. Look, it's got nearly two million views!"

Jason, who had been poking the bacon and wincing when it hissed, dropped he spatula on the floor with a clatter. Heather passed him a clean one and went, " _What_?"

"Are you joking?" said Lily.

"No, I'm serious, people love it. Heart warming gay love and all that," he added, a little bitterly, although he hoped it parents didn't pick up on it.

They didn't, staring at him in silent astonishment. Matt felt a glimmer of pride.

"Does _everyone_ love it?" said Heather, and Matt knew what she meant.

"Well, no, obviously not. But, I mean, everything gets trolls. I bet even your cat pictures get trolls."

"They are not _my_ cat pictures," said Jason, using the clean spatula to prise a rasher of bacon off the pan, "Ta da!"

It was black. They all looked at it for a moment, then Heather said, "I'm going to make some toast."

She stood up and started getting out plates and butter. The room fell into silence, thoughtful silence, except for the sound of Jason scraping charred bacon off the pan.

"I can't believe they've gone viral," said Lily, "Can I see the video again?"

Matt showed her. Then scrolled down himself to read the comments. Most of them were along the lines of _Life goals_ or _This is so sweet._ There were a few paragraphs talking about marriage equality that Matt couldn't be bothered to read. And there were also a lot of worse comments, ranging from _Those guys are gay lmao_ to all out death threats. Matt reported the comments as he went, then came across another paragraph, this time about how AIDS was the best thing to happen to this country, and put his phone down, feeling sick. Heather handed him a plate of toast, lots of jam and not much butter, just the way he liked it, and squeezed his shoulder.

"Don't read the comments," she said.

"Do you think they know?" said Lily, fiddling with the crust of her own toast, "Grandad Marvin and Whizzer, I mean."

"What, that they're an Internet sensation?" said Jason. He gave up on the pan and dumped it in the sink, instead stealing a piece of toast off Matt's plate, taking a bite and spraying crumbs everywhere as he said, "Probably not. They're not exactly tech-savvy."

"Whizzer's got Facebook," Matt pointed out.

"What, really?"

"Yeah. He posts pictures of him and grandad Marvin at charity dinners and rainbow flags, mostly. Which you'd know if you ever logged into Facebook."

"Should we tell them?" said Lily, a little anxiously.

Jason shook his head, chewing his toast in a worldly way.

"Nah. You know I've always said the Internet blows things out of proportion. I bet that unless you search specifically for it, there's no way dad and Whizzer will see this video at all."

 

 

The moment Marvin walked into work that day, he knew something was different.

It was the whispers. They were everywhere, coming from little clusters of people, far more than Marvin swore there usually were, and talking far more quietly, standing by the door and the walls and right in the goddamn middle of the room. Marvin pushed past them on his way to the elevator, and they seemed to quell, then intensify once his back was to them. Strange. The elevator was mercifully empty, so Marvin checked there wasn't anything in his teeth. Nothing. No sign on his back, no tell-tale dark marks on his neck. He was probably just being paranoid. Marvin rubbed the little line between his eyes like Whizzer did sometimes, just as the door opened again on level two to reveal Saul Applebaum.

Marvin had known Saul Applebaum for nearly forty years now. He had already been working there when Marvin joined the company when Jason was two and he was twenty three, newly married after he got his college girlfriend pregnant, surviving off his parents' money and so unhappy he sometimes walked all the way to Brooklyn Bridge in the middle of the night and weighed up the pros and cons of jumping off (and then later, to the gay bars in Brooklyn, where he'd weigh up the pros and cons of going home with this or that guy). Work helped. Work gave him a distraction, something to ease the relentless buzzing of his mind. It gave him a reason to get up at the beginning of the day and money in the bank at the end of it.

Saul Applebaum had to be in his mid sixties by now, then. Marvin might have called him his friend, but only in the Utterson sense of the word. He certainly knew, if not Marvin, than a good deal of his history, and vice versa. When Marvin and Trina divorced, Saul had been the first of what would later turn out to be many to offer him the number of a certain divorce lawyer, to offer sympathy, to find out whether he left Trina for someone. But while everyone else had asked whether she was pretty, whether she was young, Saul Applebaum had pulled Marvin to one side and remarked that it was strange how often he'd seen Marvin driving to the worst part of town, and how often he'd seen him there in the company of men, and how often he'd seen him in the company of one particular man. And then he'd looked at Marvin, the hand on his arm growing so tight Marvin still remembered the way his fingers had started to prickle, until Marvin finally pulled away. Looking back, it could've been a warning, to be more subtle, to be more careful. But back then, Marvin had taken it as a threat, and he avoided Saul Applebaum for years.

But then he'd lost Whizzer, and he'd gotten him back; he'd gotten ill, and then he'd gotten better, and holding grudges seemed futile. So now, no, he and Saul Applebaum were not truly friends, but he could crowd into the lift with an easy grin and say: "Morning, Marv."

"Hello, Saul."

There was a pause, and then Saul said: "Great weather we're having, huh?"

And Marvin said: "Yes, it's lovely," and he wondered why the elevator was taking so long to ascend three floors.

"Do anything nice last night?"

Saul said it with a wink-wink-nudge-nudge grin that made Marvin feel virtually nauseated; he shrugged, and frowned when Saul looked unconvinced.

"What?"

"Marv, didn't you used to be married once upon a time?" said Saul.

The question was so unexpected that Marvin blinked.

"Once upon a time, yeah," he said, slowly.

"And you never thought of re-marrying?"

Marvin just stared at him. In the mirror over Saul's broad shoulder, Marvin saw his face begin to flush.

"Why'd you ask?" he said eventually, just as the doors to the elevator pinged open.

But Saul just clapped him on the shoulder and left, leaving Marvin standing there, rubbing his shoulder in confusion. He stood there for a moment, then got out his phone.

_I think Saul Applebaum just asked if I'm married. Should I be worried?_

Marvin tucked his phone back in his pocket as he left the elevator. He liked to arrive at work early, seeing as early starts meant more hours and less chance of running into people who wanted to talk, but this particular morning the room seemed fuller than usual. And there was absolutely no denying it.

Every single eye went to him.

Feeling as though he was in that dream he got occasionally where he turned up to work naked, and keeping his eyes carefully averted, Marvin filled up his mug with coffee (the mug was a birthday present from Whizzer, with "Mr Perfect" printed across it). As he added what Whizzer called an excessive but Marvin called the perfect amount of milk and sugar, he felt his phone buzz, and looked at it as he made his way down the corridor to his office, whispers trailing behind him like footprints in the sand.

d _efinitely how cld he resist ur ravishing ass_

Marvin took a sip of tea and choked on the phrase "ur ravishing ass." He pushed open the door of his office with his elbow and sat down at his desk to type a reply.

_Are you jealous?_

_of saul_

_Yes._

_of course he gets to spend all day w u_

_Well, what would you do if you were here?_

Marvin looked up; the corridor outside his office was empty. He took a drink of coffee and looked back down as his phone buzzed.

_probs re organise ur filing system if its as bad as at home_

Marvin laughed, then pressed his hand to his mouth like somebody might come in and catch him.

_Sounds hot._

_u know it baby ;)_

"What you smirking at?" came a voice from the doorway.

Marvin looked up again to see Anika Weissman leaning against the door frame. She had only been working there a few months, and was at least half his age, but they got on well, united by their Jewishness, sarcasm and fondness for the old British comedies Whizzer despised. She was clever and vivacious, with red lips, dark, slanting eyes and a waterfall of coiffed black hair. Marvin sometimes thought she was the sort of person everyone expected Marvin to leave Trina for, all those years ago.

But despite the fact that they were probably friends, Anika didn't know about Whizzer, simply because nobody here knew about Whizzer. Their relationship had no place here, to be prodded and pointed out and analysed by virtual strangers at the printer. Plus, there was always the worry of how people would react. Marvin wasn't ashamed of who he was, but he was realistic about it. Being gay couldn't lose him his job anymore, but it could lose him his respect. And there was no telling what could happen if people marked his disappearance during the eighties, and his frequent sick leaves, and his cough. Yeah, being gay wouldn't lose him his job, but being HIV-positive could.

"Nothing," said Marvin, sending a definitely ironic winky face before tucking his phone back in his pocket, "How are you?"

"Not bad," said Anika.

She came into the room and sat down on one of the chairs opposite Marvin's desk, tilting it onto its back legs.

"I wouldn't do that," Marvin advised, propping his elbows up on the desk, "My son cut his head open falling off his chair."

It had been a few years after Whizzer first got ill, a weekend when both he and Jason were home, sitting at the kitchen table eating dinner like nothing was wrong. Jason had been rocking back in his chair, and suddenly laughed so hard at something Whizzer said that he toppled backwards and hit his head on the sideboard. Whizzer had instantly leapt up to help him, but when Marvin saw the blood pooling on the floor he screamed at him to stop. And Whizzer looked at him with terror in his eyes and bellowed, "You could infect him too!" And then he started crying, and then Marvin started crying, and Jason was already crying, so the three of them were suspended there in the kitchen like they could drown in blood and tears until one of them finally had the sense to call an ambulance.

Anika rocked her chair back onto four legs with a bang. "I didn't know you have a son."

"Oh, he's all grown up now," Marvin said fondly, "A lawyer, you know, down in New Jersey."

"Single?"

Marvin laughed. "No. He's married, with two children. Besides, what happened to the socialist?"

"Marxist, actually," said Anika, who was regarding him with a slightly odd look in her eyes, "And I broke up with him."

"That's a shame. Maybe try a nice communist next time."

"I can't believe you're a dad," said Anika.

"Grandad, too," said Marvin, "And why not? Too young, right?"

"Don't flatter yourself," said Anika, her tone light but her expression suddenly nervous. She fiddled with the hem of her skirt. "I just assumed, especially with your news, congratulations, by the way, I probably should've said that-"

"What news?" Marvin cut her off, frowning, his heart rate starting to speed up.

Anika looked at him, then at his hand, casually placed on the desk. "Nice ring."

Marvin's frown deepened. "I'm not wearing a ring."

It was in his pocket, but he'd never tell Whizzer that. And he wore it all the time, anyway. Just... Not at work.

Anika sighed. "Look, Marv, I thought we were friends."

"We're friends?" said Marvin, making his voice extra horrified to hide the way he could hear blood thumping in his ears.

"Very funny," said Anika, rolling her eyes, "But yes. I thought you'd- I dunno, I thought you'd tell me about something like this. I've told you all about _my_ boyfriends."

She stressed the pronoun, and Marvin felt his heart skip a beat.

"I don't have boy _friends_ ," he said.

He was trying to make a joke of it, but Anika just stared at him. Marvin felt himself falter. He took a breath. Christ, he was happy with himself, he had been happy with himself for _decades,_ this shouldn't still be difficult.

Another breath. Anika's eyes were boring into him.

It was just something about this place. Work had always been an escape, a place where his home life didn't matter. All people knew about him here was his name, his job, his hours, and nothing else mattered; he could forge himself a new identity, based off of the numbers he pulled and how he took his coffee. And in a world where people took one look at him, at the man on his arm and the hospital record trailing behind him, and judged him for it, it was... refreshing. Being gay meant a difficult past; being HIV-positive meant an unsavoury one too. Whizzer wore those stereotypes with pride but Marvin couldn't do it, he _wouldn't_ do it. He wanted to be free from the facts that had shaped his entire life, however brilliant that life may have been, just for a few hours.

But even though it had worked for forty years, maybe now it was impossible. And maybe - thought Marvin, fingering the ring in his pocket, already cold from the lack of use - maybe he wanted it to be.

Anika was still staring at him. Marvin took another breath, and he said, "But I do have one."

Her eyes narrowed, then widened; Marvin nervously watched her throat bob as she swallowed, but then her face broke into a grin. She leant forward, positively beaming by now, and hit him on the arm.

"See, that wasn't so hard!"

Marvin laughed a little awkwardly. He rubbed his arm, heart still racing. He felt self conscious, exposed, like somebody had peeled off his skin and started commenting on his organs.

"You- you don't mind?"

"Mind?" Anika echoed, rolling her eyes again, "Why would I mind? It's not the seventies anymore, Marv, being gay is practically in fashion."

Marvin thought of the dirty looks at dinner. The people in the parking lot. The second glances he still got walking down the street, faces flushing, hands tightening on children's wrists.

"Maybe," said Marvin.

"Well, what's his name?" said Anika, leaning forward, eyes bright, "Where'd you meet? What's he like?"

"His name's Whizzer," Marvin told her, and even he heard the way his voice softened, "Whizzer Brown."

"And?" Anika leant even further forward. 

Marvin smiled, almost forgetting where he was as he remembered. "Um, we met in this awful bar in Brooklyn, truly terrible, honestly, in 1978. I was all scared and awkward because I didn't go to gay bars much, but Whizzer came up to me, cool as you please, and asked me to buy him a drink. He was younger than me, I think he just wanted me because I looked rich. But he's- he's wonderful. Brave and funny and caring. Clever, too, although it took me a long time to realise it. Kind of narcissistic." Marvin laughed. "Still just as good looking."

"Do you have a picture?" said Anika.

Marvin pulled out his phone, swiped through his gallery until he found an old one he'd taken a photo of. It was taken a few months after they met, the original selfie, Whizzer liked to joke, him holding the camera and pointing it at the two of them. It wasn't a good photo, really; it was monochrome 1970s quality, Whizzer frowning into the camera as he tried to get it properly composed, and Marvin wasn't looking at the lens, instead staring at Whizzer with an expression of wonder in his eyes. He showed the photo to Anika, and she smiled.

"God, you look so young," she said, "It's weird imagining you young. But yeah, I'd definitely bang that. Do you still have old people sex?"

"It's not _old people_ sex." 

He couldn't quite believe he'd said it, but Anika just laughed, punching his arm again in a _way to go_ kind of way.

"I was actually married when we first met," Marvin admitted, "Even though I was, I wasn't... interested. But I left her, and my son, for him. I left- I gave up a lot from him."

Like his lungs. Anika stared at him, eyebrows raised. Now he thought about it, she actually reminded Marvin of Whizzer. With her boyfriends and her big ideas, only of smashing the patriarchy rather than the heterosexuals.

"You know," said Marvin, "You're the first person I've ever told here. About me, I mean."

At that, Anika broke the moment by snorting loudly.

"Oh, sweetie, everyone knows you're gay."

Marvin stared at her. "Excuse me?"

Anika snorted again, covering her mouth with her hand to try and hide it. "Uh, Marvin, how do I say this? You basically radiate homosexuality."

"I- I do?"

"Sweetie," she said again, now properly laughing, "You once quoted rent in a meeting."

"It's a good film!" Marvin protested.

"Yeah, said everyone gay, ever. And you're not married, you never talk about your home life, you take your coffee like a twelve year old. Everyone just kind of... Assumed, I guess. Plus you do radiate homosexuality. You do, like, this thing with your hands."

"No I don't," said Marvin, waving his hands to emphasise his point then looking at them in horror.

Anika started giggling. "Sweetie, you're so gay. I can't believe you thought people didn't know."

Marvin started laughing too, because if he didn't he thought he might do something really stupid like cry. "I can't believe it, either."

Anika patted his hand. "Well, all least you know. And they know for certain too, don't they? Congratulations, by the way, have I already said that?"

Abruptly, Marvin stopped laughing. "What are you talking about?"

There was a moment of silence. Anika stopped laughing too, her mouth falling open in realisation.

"Oh no," she breathed, "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" said Marvin.

"Fuck. Uh, pass me your phone."

Marvin did, frowning when she pulled up youtube and started typing something in.

"What is it?"

"Don't freak," said Anika, taking a breath before passing his phone back, "But, uh, how do I say this? So literally everyone has seen this video."

 

For the first time he could remember in all the forty years he'd been there, Marvin left work early. He felt raw with exposure, bruised with people's probing stares, sick and tired and emotionally wrung out. A man, a boy, really, had started laughing during his meeting, glancing at Marvin with his hands over his mouth; a woman had been at the printer when he approached it, taken one look at him and backed away, like he might infect her with his homosexuality by sheer proximity. It was laughable. Marvin had been on the cusp of laughter all day, and also tears, and also something dark and sticky and deep inside him that he hadn't felt in a very long time.

He needed home. He needed the safe comfort of his apartment, and of Whizzer, and of turning off his wifi and perhaps never turning it on again.

Marvin thought: this never could've happened thirty years ago.

But maybe it was okay. There had been no open hostility, no barely veiled threats from his bosses. It was more the shock of it than anything else, the scandal. And yes, Marvin felt rubbed raw and exhausted, but he also felt relieved. He hadn't been frogmarched to prison, or to hospital, or to a dark alleyway with a baseball bat. He was okay. And he was free.

"Hi honey, you're home," Whizzer called when he entered, like he did every day, and then he laughed, also like he did every day, "How was work?"

Marvin wasn't sure Whizzer had ever had a job. When he first met him, he seemed to get the little money he had from strategic blowjobs and smitten men, and then from one smitten man in particular. He dabbled in photography for a while, and Marvin knew he started something close to business in the two years they spent apart, but then he got ill, and decided he preferred it as a hobby, anyway.

Nowadays, Marvin's job was lucrative enough that he did charity work instead, homeless youth and gay hotlines and AIDS awareness, what felt like every charity in the city. Marvin went with him to fundraiser dinners sometimes, and everyone looked at Whizzer like he was the next Moses. Still, Marvin sometimes wondered at his lack of ambition, but whenever he asked him about it Whizzer just blinked at him and said, "Why would I want a career when I can help people instead? Besides, I've got you, what more could I want?" And it was a genuine question, because Whizzer was finally satisfied with his microcosm of family and queer youth, of not changing the world but helping people in his corner of it, of living quietly and dying discreetly, but always by Marvin's side.

"It was okay," said Marvin, kicking off his shoes and going through to the kitchen.

Whizzer was standing at the counter, arranging flowers in a vase. He glanced over at Marvin entering, face creasing into a smile as he leant over to kiss him.

"Trina sent flowers," Whizzer informed him, returning his attention to them as Marvin turned to rummage through the fridge, "Congratulating us on our engagement. How do you reckon she knew? You know I've been saying for years she's telepathic."

Marvin paused with one hand on a pizza lunchable. Slowly, he turned back around to face Whizzer, who had knelt down to see if the plants were straight. Their eyes met; Whizzer straightened up, eyebrows raised.

"What is it?"

Marvin shifted from foot to foot. "Um. Well. You know I proposed to you last night?"

"Fake proposed," said Whizzer. He folded his arms.

"Yeah, well, somebody, um, filmed it."

"Right," Whizzer scoffed, "Why would anyone do that?"

"I don't know," said Marvin, honestly, "But it's kind of, um, gone viral."

Whizzer's arms went slack at his sides. His mouth fell open. "What?"

"A woman I work with showed me. Turns out everyone has seen it." Marvin's voice shook, incredulous. "It's got nearly a million views, Whizzer."

Whizzer stared at him. Slowly, his hands went to his face. "I _thought_ people were acting weird with me. I just thought you gave me a hickey or something."

Marvin laughed. At the ridiculousness of the situation, at the hilarity, at the sheer improbability. Later, he'd remark ruefully that this meant they couldn't try the trick at Olive Garden, and Whizzer would ask if they were technically famous, and they'd ring the lesbians and hang up after they laughed down the phone for ten minutes straight. Even later, he'd tell Whizzer how it felt to know everyone in his workplace knew, how exposed he had felt, like his greatest most precious secret was laid bare, and Whizzer would tell him how he'd locked eyes with a man in an alleyway walking home and seen recognition flare there, and what if that happened again, and what if it was hatred he saw as well. But right then, finally, Marvin just laughed. And after a moment, hands still over his mouth, eyes wide in shock, creased in disbelief, Whizzer did too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Balegan is a Hebrew word basically meaning shit, by the way. Thank you for reading and happy Halloween!!


	7. Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update, I've been super busy with revision. And, yes, I know Pride didn't come out (ha) until 2014, but it's my favourite film and I really wanted to include it. If you haven't seen it, please do!
> 
> As ever, kudos and comments are very much appreciated!!

Marvin took a week off work. Before, he had only ever done that when he was ill, or Whizzer was ill, or, once, when Matt played Joseph in his kindergarten Christmas play (" _I refuse to watch blatant Jewish erasure_ ," Marvin had said while they were walking to his school, to which Whizzer had said, " _Isn't it technically the opposite because Joseph was Jewish_?" and taken the opportunity while Marvin was thrown a loop by that realisation to shove a handful of snow down his neck).

But after the revelation of the video, and the consequent reaction of his work, Marvin was entirely done with the place. He needed a break from the stares and whispers. To let the dust settle, as it were. Of course, he'd probably be starting more rumours when he didn't turn up, but at this point Marvin didn't really care.

Whizzer agreed to take a few days, well, not off work, but away from his many charities. Marvin could tell he was building up to ask him to come along, but Marvin knew what his answer would be. Marvin wasn't a good person; he didn't feel bad about the fact that he simply didn't want to go, to deal with whiny teenagers and the reminder of when he himself was like that, with dirt and sadness and homosexuality _everywhere._ He'd done his bit for the greater good; he gave money to those really annoying collectors who came up to him in the street, _and_ gave old clothes to Whizzer to pass on to his people. He even went to charity dinners sometimes. But not now. This week was to be spent with Whizzer, his _fiancé_ (Marvin would never get tired of saying that), away from thoughts and away from judgement. Marvin needed the safety of their little bubble, and he needed the distraction of all things Whizzer.

The days blurred into one; the margins between day and night, between being awake and asleep, between where Marvin ended and Whizzer began, softened, smudged away entirely. They floated between the couch and the bed, eating take outs for every meal and having sex more than Marvin cared to admit. When they weren't screwing, they lay together with the curtains closed so they didn't know whether the golden light trickling through it was from the sunrise or the sunset, everything melting away except the feeling of their bodies, of skin on skin and hearts on hearts, until they could have been the only ones in the world.

They watched movies too, sprawled on the couch wearing nothing but a shared blanket, and sometimes not even that. Calamity Jane and Jesus Christ Superstar and the new Sherlock TV series, not because either of them had a particular interest in detective fiction but because Whizzer liked complaining about heteronormativity, and Marvin liked listening to him. He said: "Look at how he reacts to blood, yeah, there, look, Sherlock is definitely HIV-positive, I mean, he's gay and a drug user, of course he is," and Marvin said: "You're ridiculous," and he kissed him, and then they had sex, and then they looked back at the television and saw John was covered with explosives in a swimming pool and had to rewind to find out how the hell he got there.

For three days, they merely existed, their circadian rhythm falling away, replaced by hours of nothingness, of that hazy feeling between being asleep and awake. Whizzer liked photography, had told Marvin about composition; according to him, negative space was vital in a good photograph, and that was what they lived in, in subzero, in entropy.

For three days, they existed, alone, but on the fourth Whizzer dragged them into the glaring outside to see this new queer movie that was out in theatres, because the world still existed for Whizzer, and he wasn't afraid of it. It was set in the eighties, about gay activists in Britain helping striking miners or something.

"Where were we when all this happened?" Whizzer asked as they queued to buy their tickets.

"America," Marvin said, monotone, "Hospital. Do you want popcorn?"

Whizzer shook his head, frowning. "Darling, don't get it, you'll annoy everyone with your crunching."

Marvin made a 'pff' noise. "No one will even notice."

" _I_ will. And they will too when you start coughing, you know popcorn makes you cough."

"Everything makes me cough," Marvin pointed out.

Whizzer raised his eyebrows, leant forward. "What about this?" he whispered, going to kiss him, but Marvin pushed him away.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed, "Here?"

Letting out a breath that ruffled his fringe, Whizzer straightened up. He folded his arms, eyebrows raising further. "Gee, Marvin, I didn't know going to see a movie set in the eighties would make you regress there yourself. Oh, sorry," he said to the woman at the concession stand, who was watching the two men by now at the front of the queue a little nervously, "Can we have two tickets for the showing of Pride, please?"

"Would you like any food or drink?" the woman said in a bored voice.

Marvin eyed the vat of popcorn. Whizzer followed his gaze, and said warningly, "Don't."

"A medium portion of popcorn, please," said Marvin.

She nodded, snapping her gum. Whizzer said, " _Marvin_."

"Anything else?"

"Yes," said Whizzer, frowning at the carton of popcorn the woman handed to Marvin like it had personally offended him, "Can I have one of those blue slushie drinks?"

"I don't think so," Marvin scoffed, "You're meant to be cutting back on sugar."

"You do know carbs turn into sugar?" Whizzer said, looking over at him, "They're made up of starch, then amylase breaks it down into sugar molecules. Heather told me," he added to Marvin's astonished expression, "We were discussing the relevance of 'you are what you eat'."

"Well, the doctor said sugar," Marvin said after a moment.

Whizzer gave a dramatic sigh, turning back to the woman. "Fine. A large glass of your most expensive red wine. God knows I'll need it with him sitting next to me."

Marvin scowled as the woman passed Whizzer one of those little pre-wrapped plastic glasses.

"Anything else?"

Whizzer gave his most charming smile. "No, thank you."

The woman rung up the total, and while Marvin got out his card said to Whizzer in a tone of mild disbelief, "Are you two friends?"

"No," said Marvin. 

"He's my partner," said Whizzer, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

Marvin pushed him off. "Unfortunately."

"We're getting married," Whizzer informed her with a megawatt smile.

The woman blinked, three times in quick succession. "Um, okay. You're in screen four, just down there."

"Have a good day!" Whizzer said, taking the tickets with yet another disarming grin.

Marvin followed him around the corner. "I can't believe she asked if we're friends."

"I know right, like you have friends."

"We're going to see a movie called _Pride_ ," Marvin said sourly, "Isn't that some indication? Christ, and her face afterwards. You'd think we'd be free from judgement in a theatre showing queer movies, but nope."

Whizzer just looked amused. "Would you rather she asked if we're from that video?"

"Hey, aren't you the guys from that video?" came a voice behind them.

They turned, but it was just a girl, two girls, both a little older than Lily, with cropped hair and matching rainbow t-shirts. Whizzer grinned, delighted; Marvin rolled his eyes.

"No," he said, taking hold of Whizzer's elbow and dragging him into the theatre.

Unfortunately, the girls followed them, all the way up the steps in the middle. Marvin and Whizzer sat on the back row; the girls sat the next row down, turning around in their seats to look big-eyed at them. "You are, aren't you? The restaurant proposal video that went viral?"

"Yes!" said Whizzer, positively beaming. He nudged Marvin, "Darling, we're famous!"

"Great," Marvin said flatly.

"Ignore him," said Whizzer, leaning forward in his seat to speak to the girls, "He's cranky because the people at his work saw the video."

"Shut up, Whizzer."

Whizzer sat up and raised his hands in a 'what can you do' kind of gesture. "See what I mean?"

The two girls laughed a little awkwardly.

"So what are your names?" said Whizzer, leaning forward again.

"Um, I'm Alice," said one girl, "And this is Lily." She took a breath. "My girlfriend."

Whizzer elbowed Marvin again, so hard he went, "Ow!"

"Our granddaughter's called Lily!"

"Yes, I _know,_ baby," said Marvin, rubbing his side.

"I'm Whizzer, and this is Marvin. He's my fiancé, and also a dick."

"Hello," said Marvin, raising a hand.

The girls waved back, before turning around to face the screen. Marvin saw their hands join, and Whizzer's face go all gooey. He nudged him (far more gently than Whizzer had done).

"Am I really being a dick?"

Whizzer looked over at him and gave a fond grin. "Yup."

Marvin huffed a laugh. "Yeah, I know, I know. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry for not kissing you. It's just... I liked not leaving home. It feels weird to be in the outside world again. I feel..."

"Exposed," Whizzer finished. His smile softened. "It's okay. I get it. But you can't let that stupid video screw you up, Marv."

"We just got recognised," Marvin pointed out.

"Oh, by a couple of mini Charlotte and Cordelias," said Whizzer airily.

"Still. Plus, not _every_ lesbian's like Charlotte or Cordelia."

"Sure they are. Just like every queer boy is like you or me." Whizzer pointed at himself, then at Marvin. "Completely fabulous, or a repressed, neurotic mess who still won't kiss a boy in public in 2011."

Marvin laughed properly despite himself. Whizzer did that soppy smile, eyes growing warm and crinkling at the corners.

"It's not a big deal, Marvin," he said.

"I know," Marvin sighed, "I know, it's just-"

 _Just._ Just what, Marvin wasn't really sure. So he shook his head, swallowed. He cast a look around the theatre, checked everyone was facing the front. "Can I kiss you now?"

Whizzer didn't reply. He leant forward and pressed their lips together. Marvin slid his hand into his hair, cupped his jaw, gently. When they broke apart, Whizzer's smile widened. "See, that wasn't so hard."

Marvin kissed him again, this time not even bothering to check if anyone was looking, but as the lights dimmed Whizzer pushed him away.

"Stop it, I want to see the movie," said Whizzer, then, very loudly as the opening clip played, "Oh my god, Margaret Thatcher!"

 

 

Meanwhile, a hundred miles away, headphones on and door shut, Matt was sitting at his computer. In one tab, he was on Minecraft; in another, he was playing chess online against a person called ChessMaster67, because honestly he only really played Minecraft because all his friends did, and despite his family being constantly praised for how individual and uncaring of other people's opinions they were, Matt quite liked not being branded The Weird Kid Who Didn't Play Minecraft.

He was already the clever kid. The Jewish kid. The kid with the gay grandads, although he'd managed to keep that particular fact quiet. It wasn't that Matt was ashamed of his grandads; honestly, he thought they were awesome. It was just the moment anyone found out about them they became Matt's identity. At school, among his friends' parents, even when he went to a diner they'd all been to: _oh yes, he's the boy with the gay grandads._ Lily didn't help. Matt was clever, yes, but Lily was older, so automatically even cleverer. It was easy for him to blend into the background, fade into insignificance next to his glowing sister and successful parents and gay grandads.

But blending in was okay. Being insignificant was okay. Frankly, Matt was used to it; all he needed to do was get through elementary school, middle school, high school, college, then he could blow them all away. Maybe he'd find a cure for AIDS, although he was trying very hard not to think about the underlying reason behind that particular goal. Maybe he'd fight for marriage equality everywhere (he was also determinedly not thinking about the reasoning for that).

Or maybe, he thought, taking ChessMaster67's queen and sighing as he returned to Minecraft, he'd somehow create a law that educated all ten year olds on the fact that gay was not an insult.

 _Why did you call that creeper gay_ he typed into the chat.

Matt sighed further as all he received were a barrage of people calling him gay too (if he didn't sigh, he might've had to think about the cold tightness in his stomach). So much for blending in.

 _I'm not gay but being gay isn't a bad thing_ he typed quickly, before returning to his chess game, heart thumping. ChessMaster67 had taken his knight. Matt scoffed. Amateur. Be made his move before clicking back to Minecraft.

_bein gay means u dy from aids_

Matt sighed so loudly he was almost surprised his parents didn't come in ( _almost_ surprised; they were hanging around outside Lily's room while she took a nap). He looked back at the chess game; ChessMaster67 had played right into his trap. Matt made his move, watched _Check_ flash across the screen with a sense of grim satisfaction, then returned to Minecraft.

_Actually, there's this drug called tenofovir..._

 

 

When the lights came up, Marvin looked over at Whizzer with his eyebrows raised.

"Are you crying?!"

"No," said Whizzer, wiping away a tear.

"Yes you are!"

"You can't judge me, you were crying like a baby when Moriarty saw his mom."

"No I wasn't," Marvin said immediately.

"Totally were. But actually, you know what?" said Whizzer, "I am man enough to admit my feelings. And yes, I cried at that ending. Frankly, I think you've got to be heartless if you didn't."

Marvin laughed. "Come on, we should probably go, we're the last ones here."

"I don't get why people leave so quickly after the film ends," said Whizzer, standing up and following Marvin down the stairs and out of the theatre, "Don't they like seeing who was in the credits?"

"You just like to memorise your favourites to find out if they're queer in real life."

Whizzer looked up from his phone guiltily. "I don't do that. But hey, did you know the actor who plays Gethin-slash-Moriarty is gay?"

Marvin laughed again. "Fine, that scene did make me cry. But I'm surprised you didn't cry, what with your parents and all."

Whizzer's parents had been a pointed non-subject for the last, well, the last thirty years. All Marvin knew was that Whizzer left when he was nineteen, although due to being kicked out or from his own volition, Marvin didn't know. Sometimes, he wondered about it; sometimes, he thought he'd probably never know.

"Did you know Imelda Staunton is married to that guy off Downton Abbey?" said Whizzer, not looking at Marvin then as he read off his phone. Marvin couldn't tell if he was deliberately ignoring his comment or not, but he dropped the subject anyway. 

"No. Do you think we should start smoking weed like the guy in the movie?"

"The one with AIDS? Actually, I don't care, let's just do it," said Whizzer, slipping his phone in his pocket, "I'm pretty sure I can get some of the kids at my charity to hook us up."

Marvin rolled his eyes, not even bothering to comment. "Not many queer actors, then?"

"No," said Whizzer, disappointed, "Especially for such a gay movie. I really think gay actors should play gay characters, y'know? Especially since these were real people."

Marvin, who had heard this rant countless times, just said dryly, "I'll get you acting lessons for your birthday."

"Ugh, don't remind me," said Whizzer shooting the woman at the concession stand a pointed look as he looped his arm through Marvin's.

"But you love your birthday." Marvin pushed the door open with his elbow and he and Whizzer stepped outside, turning right towards home. "A whole day dedicated to Whizzer Brown."

"And Gene Kelly," Whizzer reminded him. And then he sighed. "I'm gonna be sixty. _Sixty,_ Marvin. That's _old_."

"Don't worry, you're still pretty."

"I'm being _serious_."

At the sudden despair in his tone, Marvin stopped walking, looking at Whizzer. Cars rushed past them.

"Do you know the average life expectancy of a person with AIDS?" said Whizzer.

"No." It was on purpose. Marvin didn't want to know.

"Well, me neither," Whizzer admitted, "But surely we must be past that. And sixty feels like so much older than fifty nine, it makes me think-"

"Don't think," said Marvin, "Don't overthink it. It's just another birthday."

"But that Mark guy-"

"Died before he got treatment," Marvin said, firmly, "Died when it wasn't understood. It's different now. Doctors actually know what they're dealing with, we've got medication. It's _different._ Okay?"

"Okay." Whizzer started walking again, but he didn't sound convinced. Marvin sighed.

"We'll do something special this year," he said, "Go somewhere nice. Abroad, even, if you want. I won't even complain about the price."

Whizzer laughed. "Why don't I believe you?"

"It's a landmark year," said Marvin, "You deserve more than watching Gene Kelly reruns and having kinky sex."

"I _like_ Gene Kelly reruns and kinky sex."

"I know, me too, but we went to Italy for my sixtieth, didn't we? That was amazing," he added, reminiscently.

"Didn't you collapse halfway up Mount Vesuvius?"

"The pasta was really really good, though."

Whizzer pulled a face. Marvin pressed on, "You deserve to have an amazing sixtieth too. We could go to Europe again. You always said you want to go to Paris. Or we could go there for our honeymoon, I guess... What is it?"

Whizzer had stopped walking again. A dreamy look had entered his eyes.

"You know what we should do for my birthday?" he said, not waiting for a reply, "Get married."

There was a beat. Marvin frowned. "Get married on your birthday? Whizzer, it's barely a month away."

"So?"

"Weddings take months and months to plan."

Whizzer scoffed. "What do we need to plan? Our dresses? All we need are fancy invitations and some finger food. I should know, I used to photograph weddings."

"And I actually got married," said Marvin, although now he thought about it, what _would_ need planning? It wouldn't be a big ceremony; they had no extended family who lived thousands of miles away, no parents to make it into a bigger deal than it had to be. And even with them, the time constraint of Trina's growing belly meant that Marvin was sure they'd managed it in a similar time. Of course, Marvin had been blackout drunk and monosyllabic during most of the preparations, but this was different. _Whizzer_ was different.

Whizzer, who was looking at him, eyes wide and excited and hopeful. He took hold of both his hands, right there in the middle of the street, ignoring a man who pointedly shoved past them.

"Please, Marvin?"

Marvin had never been able to say no to him. Not when Whizzer asked him to buy him a drink, to stay the night, to leave his wife, because when it came to Whizzer, Marvin was nothing. He was weak willed and pliable and he said yes, every single time.

"Yes," he said then, and Whizzer grinned and kissed his cheek before pulling his arm back through his.

"So," he said as they started walking again, "Let me tell you what I was thinking for the colour scheme...."


	8. Round Tables, Square Tables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this chapter was down in my notes as "lesbians and wedding prep," which I think sums it up pretty well.

When Cordelia and Charlotte received their invitation for the wedding of Marvin and Whizzer, Cordelia stuck it up on the pinboard in their bakery, _Half-baked,_ before standing back to admire it. Charlotte, who was cleaning tables, stopped, straightened, hands going to her mouth. The two women stood in silence, taking in the rainbow paper, the rainbow lettering, the rainbow arching over the names at the top.

"That," said Cordelia, her voice quivering with reverence, "Is the gayest thing I have ever seen."

Charlotte laughed, returning to her wiping down of the table. "How much dick do you think Whizzer had to suck to get Marvin to agree to that?"

"Stop it, you know thinking about man sex makes me queasy."

Charlotte laughed, then frowned as she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn coffee ring stain. "Jesus, we leave out coasters to avoid this very problem but to do people use them? Nooo."

Cordelia rolled her eyes, well used to this complaint by now. They had moved way back in the nineties, when it became clear that Marvin and Whizzer, although ill, were no longer at death's door. And Charlotte knew that door well. Over the past decade, Cordelia had watched her eyes grow dark as their friends, their acquaintances, what felt like every queer in the city passed through her hospital doors and came out in a coffin. It had shaken Cordelia; it had scared her, it had sickened her, it had made it so she and her lover were once more alone and in the firing line, but it had broken Charlotte. Cordelia knew Charlotte, knew she cared too much and always had to be in control. She wasn't surprised when a decade of watching death beckon and the countless men come running, and being helpless to stop it, took its toll.

So they moved, as far away from New York as they could get while avoiding the burn-homosexuals-at-the-stake areas, which turned out to be San Francisco. There were still people dying, but somehow, it didn't feel as raw as it had in New York. Cordelia rather thought they had grown used to it; grown numb to it. She sold her catering company and opened a bakery. They didn't talk about Charlotte returning to medical work because the only time they did her hands started shaking and she got this haunted expression Cordelia dreamt about for months. For a while, Charlotte did the finances, but then discovered a skill for making coffee and a passion for making people smile with the little pictures she drew on them.

And so it went, and now, they were okay. _Half-baked_ was doing well, had even won awards in the bay area. Cordelia didn't have a lover any more, she had a _wife._ Charlotte smiled. They had friends, lots of friends, and even though sometimes one would get sick, or another would die, it happened rarely, and it was okay. Sometimes, Charlotte would be moody and irritable, snapping at Cordelia for no apparent reason and refusing to leave her bed, or Cordelia would wake up in the middle of the night and see Charlotte pacing around in the darkness, and would ignore her when Cordelia told her to come back to bed. Sometimes, they'd hear something about AIDS on the news or from friends, and Charlotte's eyes would go dark as she instantly left the room, leaving Cordelia lost and spluttering excuses, not knowing how to help and hating the feeling. But those moments were happening more and more infrequently; it had been twenty years since they moved now, and the world was very different.

Cordelia's favourite thing about the new world (not including the fact she was able to get married and the far more modern kitchen aids) was definitely social media. She had a Facebook dedicated solely to her cafe, meaning sometimes people came from miles away just to try this certain cake they'd seen. At least every fortnight she Skyped little Jason and his family (even now, that word sometimes felt odd as she slipped back into remembering the curly haired boy who had flashed her a hopeful smile across a baseball field), and she spoke to Marvin and Whizzer and Mendel and her very best friend Trina on a sometimes daily basis.

So Cordelia, in a word, was happy. The new world was so much kinder to who she was and who she loved, the streets brighter, the baking section so much more expansive. And despite the fact that Charlotte practiced coffee making instead of medicine now, and sometimes locked herself away, both emotionally and physically, in guilty reminiscence, Cordelia thought she was happy too.

Charlotte was smiling then, despite the fact that she was still scrubbing at the stain, because the day was bright and the sun was out and there was Marvin and Whizzer's wedding invite stuck on the board.

"August 23rd?" said Charlotte, "That's not long."

"It's Whizzer's birthday," said Cordelia, "I guess they don't see the point in waiting." She laughed, fondly. "We didn't."

"This is Marvin and Whizzer, though," said Charlotte, "They're a little more..."

"Argumentative," Cordelia finished, rolling her eyes, "Oh boy, yes. I've seen them argue about everything from the pronunciation of milk to whether Sondheim is gay culture. You know," she added darkly, shuddering at the thought, "I think they get off on it. Arguing, I mean." And she shuddered again.

Charlotte laughed, giving up on the stain and squeezing out her rag before moving onto the next table. Cordelia watched the water drip onto the floor, glinting in the early morning light, then glanced back at the invite. There was a warm feeling in her chest.

"We'll have to get new outfits."

"I'll make you a deal," said Charlotte, looking up at her with a grin, "If we get two separate phone calls from Marvin and Whizzer complaining about the other and their wedding preparation opinions that end in a monologue about how much they love them, we can buy clothes."

Cordelia giggled. "Oh, you are _so_ on. Can we buy shoes if the arguments are over really really petty things?"

"I thought that was a given."

Cordelia laughed again before saying, a little guiltily, "I guess we shouldn't be making assumptions, though. Maybe they're so happy to just be getting married that they don't care about the details."

"Maybe," said Charlotte, doubtfully.

"We should give them a chance," said Cordelia, "Weddings are different."

She looked over at the invitation, felt warm happiness blossom inside her yet again. If someone had told her when she'd first met Marvin and Whizzer, first met _Charlotte,_ that one day she'd have a rainbow adorned invitation to a gay wedding pinned to her wall where anyone could see, without being frowned at, without being beaten up, without any real consequences whatsoever, she would've laughed in their face. Cordelia liked to think of herself as a positive, hopeful sort of person, but there was no way she ever could've dreamed such a thing happening. So really, in comparison to that, was it so inconceivable that Marvin and Whizzer could do _something_ without an argument?

"I think they're doing fine," Cordelia declared, going over to her wife and kissing her cheek, "The bet still stands, but I'm right. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if in actual fact they've agreed to everything so far."

 

 

The only thing Marvin and Whizzer had agreed on so far were the invitations. And even in that case 'agreed' could only be used as the loosest of terms.

"I want that one," Whizzer said the moment a page of invitation templates appeared on the computer, jabbing his finger at one that was so overwhelmingly rainbow Marvin felt a little nauseated.

"Um, no."

"Why not?" said Whizzer, frowning at him.

"Well, it's very... queer," said Marvin.

Whizzer scoffed. "What's going to be queer about it, _darling,_ is the fact that the names at the top belong to two men."

"Still," said Marvin, "I'm not giving _that_ to my boss." He turned to the wedding planner (who was apparently some sort of specialist in queer weddings, which Marvin found a, kind of insulting, and b, very improbable seeing as the first weddings had happened _yesterda_ y, but since the first guy had turned them down upon learning they were queers Marvin hadn't wanted to take any chances). "Can we have something a bit less..."

"Interesting," Whizzer supplied in a monotone, "Fun. Personal."

" _Flamboyant_ ," said Marvin, "White paper, maybe. Silver and blue accents."

"Why blue?" said Whizzer, the way a child might ask why they had to eat vegetables.

"Well, it's the obvious choice, isn't it?" Marvin frowned, gesturing between them both, "Men and all that."

"I prefer pink."

Marvin sighed. "Of course you do."

"We can do pink," the wedding planner, whose name Marvin thought might have been Derek or something equally awful, said nervously.

"No," said Marvin.

"Yes," said Whizzer, "Ignore him, he's got a fragile masculinity." He turned to Marvin. "Colours aren't gendered. In fact, gender is a social construct."

"Oh, here we go again," groaned Marvin.

"Gender was created," said Whizzer, ignoring him, "As a means to label and ultimately control us. So you can take your colour-oriented gender roles, Marvin, and stick them up your dry, wrinkly asshole."

"And you'd know that, wouldn't you?" Marvin shot back.

"Fuck you."

"See that's my point, you did. I am so sorry," Marvin added, turning back to Derek the wedding planner, who was watching them with a slightly traumatised expression, "What colour are we going for?"

Derek blinked. "Um," he said, "We could do different colours, I suppose. Blue for your guests, pink for your's."

"Fine," said Marvin.

"Ooh, can we send the lesbians the rainbow one?" said Whizzer, brightening.

Marvin laughed. "Yeah, they'll appreciate that."

"What about Trina? Do you do one that says 'sorry for marrying your ex-husband'?"

"Um," said Derek.

" _Don't_ do that," said Marvin, "We'll send her and Mendel a blue one."

"A pink one," Whizzer corrected.

"Who's known them longer?"

"Let's send them a rainbow one too," said Whizzer, adding to Derek in a wise sort of way, "You've got to see the funny side in these situations."

Derek looked nervous. Marvin rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I'm so sorry for not seeing the funny side of my marriage falling apart."

"That was your own fault getting married in the first place," said Whizzer.

"So are you saying our marriage is going to fail too?"

"Probably!"

A moment of silence. Derek cleared his throat.

"So are you... Do you still want this wedding?"

"Of course," Marvin and Whizzer said in unison, frowning in equal bewilderment at such a question. Derek blinked again.

"Um, okay. Moving on..."

And so it went. Marvin rather though Derek was going to have a mental breakdown by the time the big day arrived. They'd discussed locations, food, themes, all to no avail; Marvin hadn't thought he'd cared, but when Whizzer suggested things like _pink floral centerpieces_ he'd had to put his foot down. Hell, they couldn't even agree on the shape of the tables (square tables were the obvious choice, both practical and what Whizzer would call _aesthetically pleasing,_ but he was adamant that round tables signified their everlasting love or some other crap).

Giving up in despair after witnessing that particular argument, Derek had given them homework, to sort out a guest list and at least the song for their first dance by their next meeting in a couple of days. Marvin was currently sitting on the floor of the living room trying to figure out the former, trawling through all the contacts he'd accumulated over the years and working out who he didn't completely hate, while Whizzer lay on the couch scrolling through his iPod and reading out song ideas for Marvin to reject.

"No one is alone?" Whizzer suggested.

Marvin shook his head and frowned at his third sheet as he tried to remember whether he'd ever come out to his second cousins. "Depressing."

"One song glory?"

"Morbid."

"Touch me?"

"Isn't that about masterbation?"

"Probably," Whizzer yawned, still scrolling, "But it's, like, a metaphor. Oh my god, me and Trina have to do a reenactment of Tango: Maureen."

Marvin looked up, papers with half the names scribbled out fanned across his lap, and frowned. "No. That implies I'm Maureen."

"And I'm Joanne," Whizzer pulled a face, "Seems kinda _wrong_ for me to be a lesbian. It's like picturing Mendel as a drag queen."

"I'm not Maureen," said Marvin.

"You cheated!"

"I cheated?"

"Fuckin' cheated!" said Whizzer, "Oh, that was perfect."

"I'm not Maureen," said Marvin, "She was promiscuous, and entitled, and a woman."

"Check and check... Actually, what am I saying, you're nothing like Maureen. You'd be a yuppie if it wasn't for the fact you're old gay and love musical theatre."

"Trina can be Maureen," said Marvin firmly.

Whizzer's face lit up. "That means you and Mendel have to dance!"

Marvin glared at him as Whizzer started laughing so hard he almost fell off the couch.

"I am not dancing with Mendel," said Marvin sternly, although he couldn't help his lips twitching as Whizzer howled with laughter.

"You and Mendel dancing a tango!" he wheezed, slapping his knee and wiping away actual tears with his other hand, "I would sell my freaking soul to see that."

"Great," said Marvin, "Going back to actually planning our wedding, have you ever met the Marshall-Joneses?"

"I don't know. Oh wait, yes, you met up for dinner with them a few years ago and I had to come and get you because the wait staff somehow found out you had AIDS and were threatening to sue you for, quote unquote, _endangering the community_."

"Oh, yeah," Marvin sighed, "Of course. How did they react to you?"

Whizzer raised his hand and tilted it from side to side in a 'meh' gesture. "Hard to say. I think they sent you a Christmas card last year though."

"The ultimate low blow," said Marvin, drawing a line through their names, "That's two more off the list. You don't have any family you want to invite, do you?"

Whizzer snorted. "Not unless you want to play smear the queer at the wedding reception."

"Fantastic," Marvin said flatly, "At this rate, it's going to be just us and Derek. How are the song decisions coming along?"

"Terribly. Someone keeps saying no to all my ideas."

"Very funny," said Marvin, rolling his eyes as Whizzer came and sat behind him on the floor, resting his chin on his shoulder and wrapping his arms around him.

"How's the guest list going?"

Marvin put down his pen and sighed, leaning against Whizzer. "I'm realising how many people hate us. Or who I hate."

Whizzer laughed into his hair. "Basically everyone except me, right?"

"Basically."

"So don't invite lots of people," said Whizzer, "Invite Jason and Heather and the kids. Trina and Mendel and the lesbians. Derek, even though I really think he hates us. That woman at your company you like. A few people from my charities. The neighbours, not the homophobic ones, the nice ones. Who else do we like?"

"Nobody," said Marvin, "All our friends have died."

"That's not true. I don't think you ever had any friends."

"Fine, all those men you knew and I got jealous of." Marvin counted them off on his fingers. "Stuart, James, Sammy, Martin-not-Marvin, Gordo, Alex-"

"Stop it."

"-Gabe, Solomon, he wasn't even gay, he just did drugs, Alicia, Graham-"

"Seriously, Marv, stop it," said Whizzer, grabbing his hands.

Marvin sighed. "Sorry. You were better friends with them than I was. It's just depressing-"

"That everyone we know has died," Whizzer finished.

"I was going to say having ten people at our wedding, but yeah, that too."

Whizzer wrapped his arms around Marvin again. "The number doesn't matter. Quality over quantity, right?"

"Everyone always says that," said Marvin, "But no one actually means it. When is quality really prioritised over quantity? Our society is based off quick results, and lots of them. No one gives a damn about how good they are anymore."

"Wow, you _are_ cheerful tonight," said Whizzer, pushing Marvin away and standing up. He held out his hand. "Come on, let's dance."

Marvin frowned, but took his hand anyway and allowed himself to be dragged to his feet. "Why are we doing this?"

"Because you're being cynical, and while I get all hot and revolutionary when I'm cynical you just get depressing."

Whizzer went over to their old record player ("Why do we need CDs when this has done perfectly well for nearly forty years?" he always said when Marvin suggested buying a CD player, although he suspected it was just because he liked looking hipster) and _Can't take my eyes off of you_ started playing.

Marvin raised his eyebrows. "Jersey boys is straight culture," he said, mock-accusingly.

"It's a bop, though. Oh honey, no," Whizzer tutted as Marvin went to take the lead, "I'm taller. I'm the lead."

Marvin looked wide eyed at him. "That is so heightist. Would a man not lead a woman if she was taller than him?"

"Not if he was as short as you he wouldn't," said Whizzer, moving his hands, "Also, it's very heteronormative of you to suggest one of us is the man and the other is the woman in this relationship. Like, that's kind of against the whole point."

"I'm just _saying,"_ Marvin said grumpily, "I think _I_ should be the one to lead. You're not even that much taller than me."

"Yes I am, you're _tiny_."

"I'm five foot nine. That's almost average."

"The average height for men in the USA is currently five foot ten," said Whizzer, like he'd Googled it for the sole reason of spiting Marvin.

Marvin scowled, grudgingly letting his hands be moved. "I said almost."

Whizzer smiled brightly, kissed him, then made a big show of straightening back up. "I know you did, darling. Now, shove your internalised homophobia and controlling tendencies up your asshole and let a pretty boy dance with you."

Marvin glowered at him, but did. Whizzer's hands on his, they swayed lightly to the music.

"Can't take my eyes off of you," Whizzer murmured, before chanting along to the instrumental bit so loudly Marvin half expected the neighbours to come knocking.

"I LOVE YOU BA-ABY!"

"Why am I marrying you again?" Marvin groaned.

Whizzer positively beamed at him. "Because you love me."

"Well, it's not for your singing," Marvin said dryly.

Whizzer stood on his foot. "Wrong answer. You were meant to say I love you too."

"I love you too."

"See, that would be more romantic if I didn't just tell you to say it."

Marvin laughed, taking the lead (Whizzer didn't stop him) and twirling Whizzer under his arm. He had a sudden flashback to middle school and Bar Mitzvah dances, of standing a careful two feet away from the girl he was dancing with and wondering why he was so grateful for that distance. Now, Marvin pulled Whizzer close, and smiled at the familiarity of the curves fitting neatly against his own.

"I love you," said Marvin.

Whizzer grinned. "I love you too. See, that wasn't so hard. Oh, hey," he added as the next song started playing, "What about this for our first dance?"

"It's December 1963."

"And?"

"We're getting married in August 2011."

Whizzer shrugged, wrinkled his nose. "Pfff. Details."

"Plus, isn't it about someone losing their virginity?"

"That could be relevant for all our guests know. Do you think the lesbians would believe us if we said we'd been saving ourselves for marriage?"

"No."

"What about Trina and Mendel?"

Marvin snorted. "Well, since Trina literally walked in on us and I had described our relationship in _great_ detail back when Mendel was actually my psychiatrist, I'm going to say no."

"I can't believe Mendel was once your psychiatrist," said Whizzer reminiscently, "It's like if we got Jason to be our divorce lawyer."

"We're already discussing our divorce?"

"Yup. I get the painting."

"The dick one? Thank god, I've been wanting to get rid of that for the last thirty years."

Whizzer stood on his foot again. "Okay, now we're definitely getting a divorce."

"We're not even married yet," Marvin pointed out, amused.

"Not long now though." Whizzer sighed. "I can't wait until I can finally call you my husband. You know, don't tell Derek, but I don't really care about all his daft _colour schemes_ and _meaningful choices_."

"You absolute liar," said Marvin, laughing.

"Fine, maybe I care a bit," Whizzer admitted, "But I care about you more. You know, we could just go to Las Vegas and do it and I wouldn't care."

"No we couldn't."

"Well, yeah, because spontaneous isn't in your-"

"No," said Marvin, "We actually couldn't. Gay marriage isn't legal in Nevada."

Whizzer was quiet for a moment. "Oh," he said eventually, voice unexpectedly small, "Of course. Just, I forget, sometimes."

Marvin sighed, stopping any semblance of dancing and just putting his arms around the other man. Whizzer leant into the hug.

"Fuck deserts, am I right?" he said, voice muffled.

Marvin laughed. "Yeah, and fuck the White House, and Jason and Heather, and the lesbians, and what do they have in Texas?"

"Nothing much, I don't think," said Whizzer, "But this is weird, I'm meant to be the mine of gay facts. Without that I just go back to being the pretty one."

"You're more than that, though," said Marvin, honestly, "You've always been more than that. You've always been brave, and funny, and kind, sometimes. And damn clever. You've never just been pretty. Ever. Have I really never said?"

Marvin thought of the early days of their relationship, when Whizzer really was just a pretty face and a sharp tongue and a body that belonged to a man. He thought of the number of times he'd praised those attributes. He thought of the times he'd called Whizzer dumb, and he'd meant it.

Now, Whizzer, sharp and bright and strong as a chip of diamond, laughed.

"Yes, Marv, you've said. Lots of times. I think you've got a guilty conscience. But thank you." Whizzer's voice softened. "Thank you."

Marvin kissed him. When he pulled away, Whizzer said, "In fact, you're being so nice to me that I'm going to relent on the tables. You can have your damn, impractical square tables."

"No, you're..." Marvin swallowed, closed his eyes for a moment. "You're... right. Round tables... Are more practical. But," he added, when Whizzer looked triumphant, "I am not budging on the floral centerpieces. People have allergies, for Christ's sake."

But Whizzer was waving his hand. "Oh, I don't actually want them," he said dismissively, "I was just enjoying arguing with you at that point."

Marvin stared at him. "You can't... We actually need to plan this wedding, you know."

"I know, but did you see Derek's face?" said Whizzer gleefully, "He looked like he was mentally preparing himself to sort out our divorce next month."

Unable to help himself, Marvin sniggered. But then shook his head. "No, we need to take this seriously. No more arguing."

"What if we disagree?"

"Then we compromise," said Marvin firmly.

Whizzer raised his eyebrows. "Sounds kinky."

"Derek's going to have a freaking heart attack," Marvin groaned, and Whizzer laughed.

"Look, you can't pretend we're not going to argue," he said, "We've _always_ argued. But we're in agreement that we want this wedding, right?"

Marvin was tempted to make a sarcastic remark, but couldn't bring himself to.

"Yes," he said, and he smiled.

Whizzer smiled too, kissing him briefly before sitting cross-legged on the floor and picking up the papers.

"Come on then, darling," he said, pulling a face as he looked at the first sheet, "Let's bitch about people."


End file.
